Wl^kD  PI  B  21 3 

ANNA    ALICE    CH API N 


342  C 


MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 


DWV,  OF  GALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


'If  she  guessed  what  I  am  feeling  now,"  he  thought,  "she  would  never 
speak  to  me  again" 


Mountain  Madness 


BY 


ANNA  ALICE  CHAPIN 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  EAGLE'S  MATE,"  ETC. 


Illustrations  by 
GEORGE  W.   GAGE 


NEW  YORK 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


PBE98  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

»OOK  MAftUfACTUHERS 

BROOKLYN.  N.  V. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  VALLEY  . .  i 

II.  FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS  ....  12 

III.  A  SHORT  STUDY  IN  CONTRASTS  ...  25 

IV.  THE  TOLL-GATE  HOUSE 35 

V.  GIRLS    47 

VI.  ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES  . . 60 

VII.  MOUNTAIN  LAUREL 72 

VIII.  ENID  is  LEFT  BEHIND  87 

IX.  THE  HOLD-UP  100 

X.  MIDNIGHT  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN  TOP  117 

XL  ON  THE  TRAIL  128 

XII.  DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  139 

XIII.  MALONE'S  SHACK 154 

XIV.  ENID'S  PATIENT 165 

XV.  THE  OTHER  WAY 175 

XVI.  NOON  IN  THE  VALLEY 185 

XVII.  AT  TWILIGHT 196 

XVIII.  PREPARATIONS   205 

XIX.  ENID:  LADY  ERRANT 215 

XX.  BEFORE  THE  STORM 223 

XXI.  MEN  230 

V 


2126284 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  AT  THE  POWDER  DANCE 239 

XXIII.  ELECTRIC  LIGHT  AND  LIGHTNING  249 

XXIV.  THE  UNSIGNED  NOTE 258 

XXV.  THE  LEARNED  JUDGE 269 

XXVI.  MRS.  FORSYTHE  TAKES  A  HAND.   280 

XXVII.  ANOTHER  DAWN   288 

XXVIII.  SHADOWS  FROM  THE  PAST 299 

XXIX.  SUNSHINE  AT  THE  FOUR  TRAIL 

CROSSING 305 


MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 


Never  a  trail  but  strange  it  seems, 

When  it  crosses  another  trail: 
One  a  pathway  of  joys  and  dreams, 
One  that  leads  through  treacherous  streams, 
One  as  frail  as  the  moon's  own  beams; 

One  where  you  conquer,  one  where  you  fail. 

Every  trail  runs  a  different  way; 

To  a  million  points  is  the  Great  Map  laid; 
By  the  garden  walk  to  the  hills  we  stray, 
The  mountain  path  leads  home  some  day; 
But  God  be  kind,  is  all  we  can  say, 

When  the  trails  are  crossed  for  a  man  and  a  maid! 

— Crossed  Trails. 

The  sense  to  value  Riches,  with  the  Art 
T'  enjoy  them,  and  the  Virtue  to  impart, 

Not  sunk  by  sloth,  nor  rais'd  by  servitude; 
To  balance  Fortune  by  a  just  expense, 
Join  with  Economy,  Magnificence.    .    .    . 

—ALEXANDER  POPE. 


MOUNTAIN   MADNESS 

CHAPTER  I 

FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  VALLEY 


,  I  wonder,"  said  Judge  Denby,  smiling 
in  his  wonderful  quiet,  sunshiny  way, 
"just  what  those  dear  children  are  doing?" 

Mrs.  Forsythe  smiled,  too,  and  shook  her  head. 

"They  do  so  love  prowling  over  these  moun- 
tains!" she  said.  "Tell  me,  Judge  Denby"  (her 
years  of  acquaintanceship  gave  her  the  right  to  a 
more  intimate  form  of  speech,  but  she  had  never 
availed  herself  of  it)  "are  all  the  things  one  hears 
of  about  this  part  of  the  world  really  true?  It 
seems  so  odd,  here  in  these  terribly  civilized, 
sophisticated  surroundings,  to  imagine  that  a 
really  wild,  lawless,  adventurous  life  may  be  going 
on  all  about  us  !  Do  these  exciting  things  that  are 


2  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

reported  really  happen,  or  are  they  just — fairy 
tales?" 

It  would  be  hard  to  describe  the  life  of  the 
Warm  Sulphur  Springs  colony  to  one  who  had  not 
seen  it.  Imagine  all  of  Broadway,  Fifth  Avenue 
and  Wall  Street  reduced  to  a  finely  accentuated 
and  condensed  quantity,  and  you  may  have  a  faint 
idea  of  what  this  tiny  oasis  of  ultra-fashion  stands 
for — or  did  in  the  days  which  this  story  records — 
in  the  center  of  towering  ranges  representing  vast 
and  undirected  conditions  and  impulses.  In  the 
great  hotel  and  its  little  entourage  of  cottages, 
casinos,  bath-houses,  etc.,  were  all  the  salient  and 
living  facts  of  wealth  and  luxury,  raised,  by  isola- 
tion, to  a  point  of  insolent  exaggeration  hard  to 
equal  even  in  this  day  of  extravagant  extravagance. 

Here  were  booths  and  rooms  where  jewelry, 
laces,  model  gowns,  books,  flowers  and  so  on, 
could  be  had  for  but  very  little  more  than  twice 
their  normal  market  value.  Here  the  stock- 
brokers had  their  feverish,  pulsing  tickers;  the 
women  their  tea-rooms  and  bridge.  For  the  more 
uncontrollably  restless  souls  there  was  always  rou- 
lette in  private  rooms, — 'Private,'  because  the 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  VALLEY      3 

management  did  not  officially  countenance  gam- 
bling. There  was  also  dancing,  and  the  best  or- 
chestra that  Ned  Sperry,  the  hotel  manager,  could 
get  together. 

"Are  they  all  fairy  tales?"  repeated  Mrs. 
Forsythe,  clinging  to  her  first  idea, — which  was 
the  undoubted  incongruity  of  the  law-abiding  and 
well-ordered  place,  and  the  lawless  matter  under 
discussion. 

Judge  Denby  hesitated  a  moment  before  he 
answered  her. 

"Not  altogether,"  he  said,  quietly. 

The  Judge  and  Mrs.  Forsythe  sat  in  the  mam- 
moth hotel  office,  which  might  have  belonged  to  a 
perfectly  good  palace,  among  clusters  of  palms 
and  fragrant  flowering  plants,  with  well-groomed 
men  and  beautifully  gowned  women  moving  about. 
It  was  one  of  Sperry's  fads  to  make  his  foyer  (as 
he  called  it)  a  rainbow  place,  of  many-colored 
lights,  and  the  chain  of  electric  jewels  ran  soft 
and  lustrous  for  what  seemed  an  incredible  dis- 
tance. 

The  Judge  was  still  considering  Mrs.  Forsythe's 
question. 


4  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"And  what  have  you  heard — concerning  these 
fairy  tales?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"Why,  I  heard,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Forsythe, 
"that  there  had  been  mobs,  lynchings  even,  near 
here!" 

Judge  Denby's  handsome  old  face  hardened  for 
a  moment. 

"A  man  was  lynched  five  miles  away  a  year  or  so 
ago,"  he  said,  "but  they  paid — they  paid!" 

"Tell  me,"  urged  Mrs.  Forsythe,  with  that  mor- 
bid curiosity  almost  invariably  present  among  the 
virtuous  and  normal  ornaments  of  society,  "what 
had  he  done — this  poor  man?" 

"He  was — a  murderer,  and  worse,"  said  the 
Judge. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  shivered,  as  though  something 
terrible  and  unknown  had  paused  in  passing  to 
touch  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"But  the  gangs  or  bands  of  outlaws,"  she  went 
on,  "one  hears  so  much  about  them.  Are  they 
bogies,  or  what?" 

"There  are  such  bands,"  said  Judge  Denby, 
slowly.  "The  man  who  was  lynched  was  one  of 
them." 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  VALLEY       5 

"Then  the  others — the  ones  who  'paid' — were 
law-keeping  citizens?" 

"They  were  not  keeping  the  law  when  they 
lynched  a  man,"  her  companion  said  grimly.  "As 
I  tell  you,  they  paid — quite  a  number  of  them. 
But  there  are  other  things  less  gruesome,  dear 
lady,  and  almost  as  exciting.  Let  me  tell  you,  for 
instance  about  a  case " 

And  all  the  time  she  tried  to  understand  the 
problem  of  the  lynching  of  that  unknown  man. 
Why  was  the  Judge  so  bitterly,  even  revengefully 
proud  of  having  made  them  "pay"  for  that?  She 
looked  at  the  clean-cut  profile  of  her  old  friend,  in 
a  helpless  puzzled  way.  Though  she  was  not  a 
subtle  woman,  she  had  her  intuitions,  and  she 
sensed  something  not  only  incomprehensible,  but 
sinister. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  was  a  plump,  well-dressed,  typi- 
cal woman,  still  blond  of  hair,  fair  of  face  and 
carefully  groomed  at  all  times, — the  sort  you  see 
by  the  thousand  in  every  fashionable  resort  in 
America,  only  varying  in  degrees  of  clothes  and 
manners.  Mrs.  Forsythe  was  superlative  in  both. 
She  was  a  frankly  conventional  being,  and  on 


studying  her  one  felt  instinctively  that  never  by  any 
condition  of  chance  could  she  have  done  anything 
but  the  proper  thing.  Jack  Radnor,  engaged  to 
her  daughter  Enid,  sometimes  felt  a  spasm  of 
panic  as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  They 
were  absurdly  alike  in  looks,  in  spite  of  Enid's 
present  youth  and  slenderness  and  alert  ways. 
Jack  used  to  wonder  in  terror  whether  Enid  would 
be  exactly  like  her  mother  when  she  reached  her 
age!  He  liked  Mrs.  Forsythe,  but  he  hated  to 
look  forward  to  a  day,  however  remote,  when  he 
should  have  to  pass  down  the  pathway  of  life  with 
her  replica. 

If  he  had  even  seen  a  certain  wistfulness  in  her 
eyes — a  wistfulness  which  betrayed  itself  seldom, 
and  of  which  she  herself  was  hardly  conscious — 
he  might  have  altered  his  uncompromising  twenty- 
seven-year-old  judgment  of  his  future  mother-in- 
law. 

There  was,  however,  none  of  the  wistfulness  in 
her  expression  at  present.  She  looked  very  well 
indeed  in  the  pretty  light, — already  the  little  elec- 
tric lamps  were  glowing  through  their  soft-toned 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  VALLEY       7 

shades,  and  the  negro  waiters  were  passing  tea  in 
the  big  palm-lined  hotel  office. 

Judge  Denby,  looking  at  her  critically,  yet  smil- 
ing, thought  he  had  never  seen  a  woman  who  held 
her  coloring  and  her  carriage  so  well.  He  had 
known  her  as  a  young  man,  when  she  was  some- 
thing of  a  belle,  and  he  and  the  late  James  For- 
sythe  were  only  drops  in  the  metaphorical  bucket 
of  her  admirers. 

The  orchestra,  composed  of  strings  only  in  the 
afternoon  (Sperry  had  a  discriminating  instinct 
worthy  of  a  stage  manager  when  it  came  to  effects) 
was  playing,  "Then  you'll  remember  me." 

It  is  one  of  the  simplest,  yet  most  plaintive  of 
airs,  and  because  it  is  simple  and  plaintive  and  old- 
fashioned  it  stands  among  the  immortal  little  melo- 
dies of  the  world. 

"When  other  lips  and  other  hearts,"  sang  the 
violins;  you  could  almost  hear  the  words.  The 
strain  carried  both  Denby  and  Mrs.  Forsythe 
back  a  quarter  of  a  century.  They  looked  at  each 
other  and  smiled,  rather  sadly. 

"How  you  used  to  flirt!"  said  the  Judge  with 
seeming  irrelevance. 


8  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Surely  not!"    Her  smile  was  less  sad. 

"Surely  yes!     Look  at  me! — and  poor  Dick!" 

The  smile  left  her  lips. 

"I  have  not  thought  of  him  for  nearly  thirty 
years,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  don't  believe  I  ever 
— flirted — with  him." 

Judge  Denby  lifted  his  eyebrows,  but  did  not 
contest  the  point. 

"He — dropped  out,  you  know,"  he  went  on. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  looking  straight  before  her. 
"I  know  he  dropped  out. — There !  They  are  play- 
ing that  new  thing  of  Sousa's.  I  think  I  am  glad. 
Those  old  songs  make  one  sentimental,  don't 
they?" 

Judge  Denby  looked  at  her  curiously.  He  won- 
dered just  what  connection  there  was  between 
"those  old  songs,"  sentimentality  and  Dick, — who 
had  dropped  out  so  many  years  before.  However, 
he  was  a  man  who  conserved  his  mental  forces. 
He  wasted  no  time,  intellectually  speaking.  Such 
minutes  as  he  spent  in  speculation  were  usually 
with  a  definite  purpose. 

A  bell  boy  came  up  with  a  tray  and  envelope, 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  VALLEY       9 

and  Mrs.  Forsythe,  with  a  murmured  apology  to 
the  Judge,  examined  it. 

"It's  a  telegram — and  for  Enid!"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  really  think  I'm  justified  in  opening  this — 
though  I  have  theories  about  interfering  with  my 
daughter's  correspondence." 

She  tore  open  the  envelope.  "Why — Enid  will 
be  delighted!"  she  cried,  and  read  aloud: 

"Was  going  North  but  changed  my  mind  at 
Covington.  Coming  up  to  the  Springs  to  spend 
Sunday  with  you.  ALICE." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  laughed. 

"How  like  Alice  Baker !  Making  up  her  mind 
in  a  second's  time  like  that — and — the  telegram ! 
About  twice  as  many  words  as  necessary !  But  Fm 
so  glad  she's  coming.  So,  I  think,"  she  added, 
with  a  significant  pleasant  glance  at  Judge  Denby, 
"will  be  some  other  people !" 

"Ralph?"  His  fine  eyebrows  lifted  quizzically, 
his  smile  was  not  displeased. 

"Miss  Baker  is  attractive,"  he  said.  "I  am  glad 
to  see  that  my  boy  is  carrying  out  the  traditional 
good  taste  of  the  family,  though,  of  course,  if  it 
might  have  been  your  daughter " 


io  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

She  laughed  at  him. 

"But  Enid  is  such  a  thoroughly  settled  propo- 
sition," pursued  the  Judge,  "that  it  seems  heresy 
to  even  think  of  her  connection  with  any  one  but 
young  Radnor." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  Enid's  mother  looked 
thoughtful.  Just  a  shadow  of  the  wistful  look 
came  into  her  eyes — just  a  ghostly  expression  of 
something  she  was  trying  to  understand  in  her 
child.  "Sometimes  I  wish  I  could  be  quite  sure! 
But  I  know  she  cares  for  Jack.  It's  just  that  I 
don't  think  they  have  quite  found  each  other  yet, 
— at  least  sometimes  I  think  so.  More  often  I 
don't.  You  know  I  am  not  a  bit  of  a  consistent 
person!" 

She  laughed  and  helped  herself  to  tea.  The 
Judge  declined.  He  seemed  vaguely  restless,  and, 
in  fact,  after  watching  Mrs.  Forsythe  sip  from  her 
cup  for  half  a  minute,  rose  as  impetuously  as 
could  be  expected  of  fifty  odd  years  and  two  hun- 
dred and  twenty  pounds. 

"I  have  important  business  to  attend  to,  dear 
lady,"  he  explained,  bowing  in  his  own  inimitable 
way  over  her  hand.  It  was  a  courtly  way  and  yet 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  VALLEY     u 

very  gently  mocking,  as  though  he  played  a  charm- 
ing game  which  he  knew  by  heart. 

"Arthur  Denby  is  just  what  he  was  twenty-five 
years  ago,"  said  Mrs.  Forsythe  to  herself,  look- 
ing after  his  tall,  commanding  figure  as  it  swung 
its  way  among  palms,  and  glittering  tea-tables,  and 
pretty  women,  to  the  great  doors.  "How  do  men 
with  such  heavy  responsibilities  keep  their  youth? 
I  suupose  it  is  because  the  life  he  leads  is  so  vital, 
so  active,  so  out  of  the  rut  of  things." 

She  finished  her  tea,  and  went  to  join  some 
women  friends  in  a  quiet  game  of  bridge  before 
dinner. 


CHAPTER  II 

FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS 

We  fair  fine  ladies,  who  park  out  our  lives 
From  common  sheep-paths,  cannot  help  the  crows 
From  flying  over, — we're  as  natural  still 
As  Blowsalinda.     Drape  us  perfectly 
In  Lyons  velvet, — we  are  not,  for  that, 
Lay-figures ;   look  you,  we  have  hearts  within, 
Warm,  live,  improvident,  indecent  hearts.    .    .    . 

— E.  B.  BROWNING. 

A  T  that  very  moment  her  daughter  Enid  was 
resting — during  a  long  ride  with  her  fiance, 
Jack  Radnor, — on  one  of  the  mountains  of  which 
Judge  Denby  talked. 

They  had  dismounted  and  climbed  to  a  tiny  peak 
from  which  it  seemed  as  though  the  whole  world 
were  visible. 

Jack,  on  the  rock  above  her,  stared  down  at  her 
bright  head  as  she  sat  perched  a  little  below  him. 

12 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS      13 

He  could  not  see  her  face  so  he  could  know  noth- 
ing of  the  varied  current  of  emotion  that  was  pass- 
ing over  it  in  ripples  of  expression.  She  looked  as 
usual :  Enid,  exquisitely  groomed,  lovely  of  figure, 
a  perfect,  dainty  thing,  crowned  with  living  gold, 
that  made  him  very  hungry  with  longing  as  he 
looked. 

"If  she  guessed  what  I  am  feeling  now,"  he 
thought,  "she  would  never  speak  to  me  again !" 

And,  if  he  could  but  have  known  it,  Enid  was 
thinking  very  much  the  same  thing! 

Slim  and  straight  as  a  little  white  birch  tree, 
Enid  carried  with  her  an  elasticity,  a  delicacy,  and 
a  freshness  that  was  almost  a  fragrance.  "What 
a  lovely  young  girl!"  people  always  said,  and, 
sometimes  unconsciously,  the  emphasis  was  apt  to 
be  upon  the  young.  She  was  golden-fair  of  hair, 
and  her  eyes  were  golden,  too,  a  strange  and  ex- 
quisite color-combination,  very  startling  indeed 
when  first  come  upon.  Her  fair  skin  was  just  the 
creamy  side  of  pure  white;  there  was  nothing  of 
the  skim-milk  variety  about  it,  yet  it  was  of  lily- 
like  purity.  And  her  mouth  was  a  bright  though 
very  light  scarlet,  as  were  the  swift  wonderful 


14  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

flushes  that  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks  and  chin, 
— Enid's  coral-tinted  chin  was  the  despair  of  her 
rivals  and  her  adorers — for  different  reasons! 

Her  dearest  friend,  Alice  Baker,  always  said 
that  Enid  had  picked  out  Jack  Radnor  because  his 
coloring  toned  in  with  hers  so  splendidly.  He  was 
a  study  in  browns,  just  as  she  was  a  symphony  in 
the  tone  gamut  of  ivory  and  gold.  His  hair  and 
his  eyes  and  his  clean,  clear  skin,  were  all  brown. 

"Such  a  pity!"  Alice  had  once  mourned, 
"They're  lovely  as  a  picture,  but  eugenically  quite 
impossible.  They  couldn't  have  a  blue-eyed  baby, 
and  blue-eyed  ones  are  far  the  prettiest !" 

Enid  herself  did  not  quite  know  why  she  had 
chosen  Jack  from  the  half  dozen  eligible  young 
men  on  her  string.  Of  course,  any  one  of  twenty 
women  she  knew  could  have  given  her  twenty  per- 
fectly good  reasons,  which  she  would  doubtless 
have  discarded  with  disdain.  There  were  quite  a 
number  of  "points"  to  be  accredited  to  Jack,  even 
by  a  disinterested  observer,  and  there  were  prac- 
tically no  disinterested  observers,  among  the 
women.  He  was  very  decidedly  good  to  look  at. 
He  was  an  excellent  all-round  sport;  he  had  a 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS      15 

brain,  and  business  ability.  He  had  a  sense  of 
humor,  and  he  could  dance,  and  he  was  just  as 
polite  to  old  ladies  as  to  young  ones  at  dinners, — 
that  is  to  say,  he  made  them  feel  that  he  wasn't 
being  polite  at  all.  He  was  considered  a  typi- 
cal man's  man, — the  kind  always  most  popular 
with  women — and  had  the  utter  simplicity  which 
nothing  but  breeding  has  ever  been  known  to 
give. 

These  things,  however,  as  have  been  hinted, 
were  largely  discounted  by  Enid.  In  fact,  they 
annoyed  her  by  their  obviousness,  and  puzzled  her 
as  to  why,  in  spite  of  them,  she  had  selected  to  be- 
stow upon  him  her  favor.  She  felt  that  not  one 
nor  all  of  such  qualities  could  have  won  her  with- 
out something  much  bigger  than  they  behind  them. 
This  something  she  called  "Primitive  Force,"  the 
"Eternal  Masculine,"  the  "Elemental  Male,"  and 
so  on.  But  there  was  nothing  aggressively  primi- 
tive about  Jack  Radnor.  Of  course,  he  was  a  nice, 
strong,  manly,  well-set-up  chap,  but  he  was  very 
far  indeed  from  being  a  Cave  Man.  If  he  ever 
had  any  desire  to  knock  her  down  and  carry  her 
off  to  a  lair,  he  concealed  it  with  exasperating  sue- 


1 6  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

cess.  Enid  herself  was  quite  sure  that  it  would 
have  horrified  him  to  dream  that  speculation  of 
such  a  nature  had  ever  entered  her  debutante  head. 
What  then  was  the  answer? 

The  answer,  though  she  was  destined  to  travel 
a  long  road  before  finding  it,  was  in  Enid  herself. 

She  had  completely  convinced  Jack  Radnor  that 
she  was  the  Perfectly  Proper  Young  Person,  and, 
though  he  loved  her  to  distraction,  he  would  have 
choked  rather  than  faintly  shock  her  maidenly 
reserve  and  well-trained  sensibilities  by  even  an 
intonation  that  was  too  unrestrained. 

"Jack,"  said  Enid,  abruptly,  "what  interests  you 
most  on  earth?" 

"You,"  said  Jack,  promptly,  truthfully,  but  with- 
out undue  fervor. 

Enid  flushed  angrily. 

"You  don't  Viave  to  say  things  like  that!"  she 
snapped. 

"All  right,"  her  fiance  returned,  unruffled,  "then 
I  won't.  May  I  smoke?" 

"I  wish  you  would  smoke  just  once  without  ask- 
ing permission!" 

He  lighted  a  cigarette  without  answer,  and,  as 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS      17 

she  was  not  looking,  bent  forward  and  very  lightly 
touched  her  hair.  It  thrilled  him  through  and 
through,  but  when  she  turned  upon  him  sharply  he 
was  smoking  unconcernedly,  with  quite  a  detached 
expression  in  his  brown  eyes. 

Enid  drew  a  deep  breath  of  exasperation. 

"You  are  so  trying!"  she  complained.  "You 
always  do  the  proper  thing  in  the  proper  way — 
and " 

"So  do  you,  bless  you!"  he  said,  smiling  indul- 
gently. "Don't  fuss,  Enid!  Isn't  it  too  good  a 
day  to  waste  on  a  quarrel?" 

Enid  scowled,  but  stared  out  over  the  valleys, 
silver-threaded,  that  lay  at  their  feet. 

"It  is  a  good  day,  Jack!"  She  stopped,  and  did 
not  seem  to  know  how  to  go  on.  Which  of  us 
have  not  felt  the  urge  of  that  which  we  cannot  even 
define,  much  less  express!  After  a  minute,  Jack 
put  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  very  gently.  It 
was  a  mute  question  and  encouragement, — and  a 
promise,  too,  if  she  had  been  old  enough  to  read 
more  than  printed  matter.  But  perversity  made 
Enid  shrink  from  the  tentative  caress  a  trifle  petu- 
lantly, and  Jack,  with  a  slight  tightening  of  his 


1 8  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

lips,  leaned  back,  thinking:  "There's  no  use! 
They've  made  a  waxen  image  of  her — the  darling. 
When  we're  married,  shall  I  ever  be  able  to  turn 
her  into  a  real  honest-to-God  woman?" 

And  Enid  thought:  "If  he  had  been  a  real  man 
he  would  have  kissed  me  anyway !" 

Sometime,  some  Titan  god  engaged  in  the 
formation  of  the  universe,  spilled  a  great  giant 
arm  load  of  his  properties  upon  that  area  of  land 
which  was  one  day  to  be  called  "Virginia."  Enough 
of  caverns  and  mountains  and  glades  and  gorges 
and  boiling  springs  growling  of  hell,  and  sunlit 
peaks  singing  of  heaven,  and  fertile  valleys,  and 
sweet  gardens,  and  lonely  waste  spaces,  were  flung 
upon  Virginia  to  fit  out  a  dozen  ordinary  states. 

And,  given  some  of  nature's  most  mad  and 
gorgeous  stage-settings,  man  went  to  work  to  build 
bizarre  monuments  to  what  we  are  pleased  to  call 
Civilization.  Here  in  a  small  section  men  and 
women  live  the  superlatively  social  existence;  yet 
here,  in  the  wild  area  all  around,  men  and  women 
touch  depths  of  human  and  untamed  experience 
hard  to  credit  by  those  with  a  restricted  education. 
Perhaps  nowhere  in  the  world  do  super-cultivation 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS      19 

and  super-savagery  come  so  close  together.  The 
adventurous  soul  could  lunch  among  millionaires 
and  dine  among  outlaws,  without  the  slightest 
difficulty. 

Only  there  are  no  adventurous  souls,  so  they 
don't  find  that  out.  Or  if  they  do,  they  keep  it  to 
themselves,  as  one  would  keep  the  secret  of  a  new 
and  highly  valuable  patent. 

"Jack,"  Enid  gave  a  little  gasp,  "what  does  it  all 
mean — that?" 

She  pointed  to  the  great  gleaming  gold  and 
green  stretch  between  them  and  the  purple  moun- 
tain range  beyond. 

"What  is  it?"  she  added,  vaguely  and  ineptly, 
as  she  realized,  "what  is  it  to  you?" 

"A  background  for  you,  dear." 

He  was  quite  sincere.  And  he  was  not  lacking 
in  depth  nor  subtlety  either.  Enid  Forsythe  was 
all  that  he  loved  and  wanted  on  this  earth,  and  the 
green  and  golden  and  violet  world  was,  to  him, 
barely  good  enough  for  her  stage-setting. 

But,  because  she  could  not  think  of  him  like  that, 
she  only  winced,  as  at  a  sort  of  impertinent  and 
casual  persiflage  and  shrank  again.  And  the  glory 


20  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

of  the  day,  and  the  valley,  and  the  rippling  ranges 
— royal  in  their  purple  and  gold — hurt  her  very 
much  indeed. 

"Have  you  any  idea,"  she  demanded  cruelly, 
"how  entirely  you  are  out  of  the  picture?" 

"What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  was  his  im- 
perturbable query. 

"Your  clothes,  for  one  thing.  So  rotten  per- 
fect! Imagine  those  riding  togs  on  a  primeval 
peak  like  this!" 

"I  don't  believe,"  said  Jack,  mildly,  "that  a 
bear  skin,  or  any  thing  of  that  sort,  would  do  any 
better.  Hard  to  ride  in,  you  know,  and  on  a  horse 
one  does  want  to  be  comfortable." 

"Oh,  I  know  you're  frightfully  keen  on  your 
riding!"  cried  Enid,  frowning  pettishly.  "But 
your  sort  of  riding  always  suggests  polo  to  me, — 
or  steeple-chasing — and — and  that!" 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  still  without  rancor,  "that's 
all  right.  You  have  to  ride  a  bit — even  in  polo, 
you  know.  Likewise  steeple-chasing." 

His  clothes  were  good;  whether  the  fact  were 
against  him  or  not  could  be  best  determined  by  un- 
prejudiced arbitration.  Being  big,  brown,  and 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS      21 

about  as  well  put  together  as  a  man  may  reason- 
ably be, — not  to  say  a  bit  better, — he  seemed  to 
belong  in  his  riding  breeches,  just  as  he  belonged 
on  his  horse. 

It  was  an  unfortunate  accident,  considering 
Enid's  point  of  view,  that  he  really  preferred  cor- 
rectly built  clothes  to  those  of  amateurish  design 
and  manufacture.  Enid  knew  that  he  was  hand- 
some prepared  for  a  horse,  and  handsomest  of  all 
when  he  was  on  one ;  but  it  irritated  her  that  he  did 
not  appear  before  her  arrayed  in  a  Mexican  som- 
brero, flannel  shirt  and  the  rest  of  it.  It  was  an 
insult  to  her  elemental  emotions  that  she  had  never 
seen  him  unshaved,  and  that  his  boots  were  made 
by  Morton  and  Morton's — and  fitted. 

"Heaven's!  We'll  be  late  for  tea!"  she  re- 
marked suddenly,  rising  and  shaking  out  her  rid- 
ing-skirt. 

The  loop  and  the  button  that  held  it  at  her  side 
had  missed  connections,  and  she  adjusted  it  with 
a  lithe  bend  of  her  young  little  body  and  a  pretty 
show  of  trim  black  riding  boot. 

It  was  against  Enid's  principles — or  what  she 
thought  were  her  principles — to  notice  hands,  at 


22  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

least,  a  man's  hands.  Hands  were,  or  should  be, 
necessary  appendages  to  the  human,  utilitarian 
frame.  But  she  had  never  been  able  to  avoid  no- 
ticing Jack  Radnor's. 

They  were  hands  that  meant  something — a 
man's  hands,  a  gentleman's  hands — and  full  of 
power:  long-fingered,  strong,  sensitive,  strikingly 
handsome.  They  had  a  language  of  their  own — 
the  more  eloquent  because  he  used  them  seldom 
and  sparingly,  and  only  to  definite  effect.  Enid 
had  more  than  once  caught  herself  shrinking  from 
vagrant  pictures  of  those  firm,  well-shaped  gentle 
hands:  sometimes  knocking  a  man  down,  some- 
times caressing  a  woman.  .  .  . 

As  Jack  Radnor  busied  himself  with  her  reins 
and  stirrups,  she  had  a  queer  cringing,  yet  appeal- 
ing self-hatred,  because  she  could  not  take  her  gaze 
from  his  fine  fingers  as  they  moved  deftly  about 
her  business  and  comfort. 

When  he  and  she  were  both  mounted,  it  was 
with  an  infinitely  greater  shock  that  she  realized 
that  all  the  time  she  had  been  wishing  that  these 
same  hands — which  after  all,  and  with  all  her 
vagaries,  she  loved  best  of  all  the  hands  ever  made 


FIVE  O'CLOCK  IN  THE  HILLS      23 

by  God — had  just  once  lingered  in  their  self-ap- 
pointed task  of — touching  her. 

Turning,  she  accepted  Jack's  help  and  made  her 
way  down  the  rocks  to  where  the  horses  were  wait- 
ing. 

"You  may  put  me  up,"  she  said  in  her  sweetly 
imperious  way. 

Jack  bent,  and  in  bending  hid  a  smile  that  was 
just  a  little  bitter.  As  the  small  boot  rested  in  his 
clasped  palms  and  he  let  her  swoop  lightly  upward 
to  the  saddle,  he  felt  a  mad  desire  to  stop  her  half- 
way, to  catch  that  springing,  exquisite  body  to  his 
heart  and  hold  it  close,  to  rain  kisses  on  her  face 
and  hair,  and  to  treat  her  for  one  short  moment  as 
the  Woman  he  Loved,  instead  of  the  Girl  he  was 
Engaged  To. 

However,  he  mounted  her  with  punctilious  in- 
difference, caught  the  hanging  curb  to  place  in  her 
hand,  and  examined  the  girth,  as  impersonally  as 
though  she  were  not  two  inches  away  from  him  all 
the  time. 

"She's  hopeless,"  he  thought,  swinging  himself 
onto  his  horse. 

"He's  impossible!"  was  Enid's  indignant  de- 


24  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

cision — and  her  indignation,  in  some  queer  in- 
verted way,  seemed  to  rankle  more  against  her- 
self than  him. 

And  just  then  they  came  in  sight  of  two  figures, 
which  reaching  their  vision  at  that  particular  in- 
stant, registered  in  an  astounding  fashion. 

After  one  glance,  they  turned  to  each  other  in 
sheer  wonder. 

"How  simply  magnificent!"  they  murmured,  as 
with  one  voice. 

Surely  it  is  needless  to  add  that  the  two  figures 
coming  toward  them  along  the  trail,  were  those  of 
a  man  and  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  SHORT  STUDY  IN  CONTRASTS 

A  restlessness  of  heart,  a  silent  yearning, 
A  sense  of  something  wanting,  incomplete — 
Not  to  be  put  in  words,  perhaps  avoided 
By  mute  consent.    .    .    . 

— ROBERT  BROW  KING. 

.     .     .     O  Pan, 
How  gracious  is  the  mountain  at  this  hour ! 

.     .     .      The  sun 

Is  shining  on  the  brilliant  mountain  crests, 
And  on  the  highest  pines.     .     .     , 

— MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 

"DOTH  were  well  worth  looking  at.  The  man 
was  tall — as  tall  as  Radnor  himself — and 
exhibited  a  prodigal  expenditure  of  strength  and 
magnificence  quite  in  keeping  with  the  mountains 
of  which  he  seemed  an  integral  part.  He  was  fair, 

25 


26  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 


one  gathered  as  much  from  his  rough  tawny 
crop  of  hair.  His  skin  was  burnt  deeply  by  the 
sun — not  to  the  smooth  brown  that  covered  Jack's 
clear-cut  face,  but  to  a  color  more  ruddy  and  alive ; 
the  sunburn  of  a  very  fair  man.  With  his  hawk- 
like blue  eyes,  the  splendid  fling  ot  his  great  limbs, 
and  that  glowing,  coppery  coloring,  he  might  have 
been  a  young  god,  just  descended  from  the  daz- 
zling ether,  or  sprung  up  from  the  flaming  heart  of 
the  earth.  Enid  absolutely  gasped  when  she  saw 
him.  Even  his  clothes  were  right — a  loose  shirt, 
open  at  the  neck  to  show  his  strong  sun-burnt 
throat  and  sleeves  rolled  high  up  his  fine  arms,  and 
the  roughest  of  trousers  and  top-boots.  He  car- 
ried a  shabby  old  hat  in  one  hand,  and  a  huge 
bunch  of  mountain  laurel  in  the  other. 

As  for  the  girl — if  Jack  did  not  actually  gasp 
at  the  sight  of  her,  he  certainly  did  pull  up  his 
mount  with  an  involuntary  jerk,  which  much  sur- 
prised that  animal.  Champion  had  been  hired  by 
Radnor  by  the  month  and  had  grown  used  to  the 
lightest  of  snaffle  riding,  and  the  most  reassuring 
of  knee-pressure.  So  he  reared,  did  the  horse,  just 
to  show  his  amazement.  But,  even  in  quieting  him 


A  SHORT  STUDY  IN  CONTRASTS     27 

with  apologetic  hand  and  voice,  Jack  Radnor  did 
not  once  take  his  eyes  off  the  girl  of  the  mountains. 

She  was — what  was  she  like?  He  discarded  a 
dozen  similes  in  a  single  breath.  A  June  rose? — 
But  a  June  rose  suggested  something  a  trifle  too 
cultivated.  If  there  were  a  June  rose,  as  opulent 
and  as  gorgeous  as  the  hothouse  variety,  yet  grow- 
ing wild,  then  it  might  be  like  this  woman.  She 
was  very  young,  yet  mature  with  the  adolescence 
of  almost  savage  conditions.  Her  feet  were  bare 
and  not  small  but  beautifully  shaped,  her  supple 
waist  was  large  and  her  neck  straight.  One  knew 
at  once  that  she  had  never  worn  shoes  nor  corsets 
in  her  life. 

Her  coloring  was  dark  and  radiant,  all  crimson 
bloom  and  deep  eyes  that  could  flash  or  dream, 
or  both  at  once.  She  was  a  Woman,  first  and 
foremost.  She  reminded  Jack  of  Eve,  as  she 
might  have  looked  in  God's  First  Garden.  And  the 
temperamental  possibilities  in  her  struck  fire  from 
his  own  none  too  tame  impulses.  There  was  a 
girl  who  would  know  how  to  love !  he  thought. 

And  even  in  thinking  it,  he  felt  vaguely  ashamed 
and  disconcerted,  not  only  at  an  indirect  disloyalty 


28  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

to  Enid,  but  at  an  equally  indefinite  disrespect  to 
the  woman  herself. 

He  would  have  ridden  on  at  once,  but  he  saw 
that  Enid  had  reined  up. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  was  saying,  in  her 
clear,  rather  quick  utterance,  "but  would  you  very 
much  mind  telling  us  where  you  got  that  lovely 
laurel?  I've  ridden  all  over  this  range,  and  it's  the 
most  perfect  I've  seen." 

The  young  mountaineer  stared  at  her  as  though 
he  were  a  trifle  dazzled  by  the  vision  she  made 
in  her  light  tan  habit,  with  the  sun  on  her  hair. 
Her  hat  was  hung  from  her  pommel  and  her  head 
looked  as  though  covered  all  of  gold.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  spoke,  slowly: 

"I  reckon  you  wouldn't  find  this,  likely;  it  grows 
up  on  Gray  Crag,  where  the  climbing's  stiff." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  added,  dropping 
his  eyes  from  the  brightness  of  her  face:  "I'll  get 
you-all  some,  if  you  like." 

Jack  felt  his  face  heat  quickly  as  Enid  said,  in 
an  eager  tone:  "Oh,  I  wish  you  would!" 

Gray  Crag,  eh?  And  "stiff  climbing!"  And  he 
was  tacitly  assumed  to  be  unequal  to  the  feat.  The 


A  SHORT  STUDY  IN  CONTRASTS     29 

peculiar,  calm  rage  that  comes  to  deep-feeling  men 
well  schooled  to  self-control,  assailed  him.  He  sat 
like  a  statue  on  his  horse,  without  a  change  of  ex- 
pression, not  even  realizing  that  Champion  was 
curvetting  about  and  doing  a  few  restless  stunts  on 
his  own  initiative,  until  the  fair-haired  mountaineer 
remarked  with  a  slow  grin : 

"Say,  stranger,  you  can  ride  some,  can't  you?" 

Then,  pulling  up,  Radnor  caught  not  the  man's 
but  the  woman's  eyes.  They  were  dark  and  very 
eloquent.  Irritation  against  Enid,  and  perhaps 
something  more,  made  him  in  his  turn  join  the 
conversation. 

"We've  gone  a  bit  out  of  our  regular  riding 
range.  To  get  back  to  Warm  Sulphur  Springs  the 
shortest  way — just  where  do  we  turn?" 

It  was  the  girl  at  whom  he  looked,  and,  speaking 
for  the  first  time,  it  was  she  who  answered  him,  in 
a  rich  drawling  voice : 

"Better  go  through  the  Toll-Gate  at  Four  Trail 
Crossing.  That's  Dad's." 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  a  candid,  yet  timid, 
wonder  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  Jack,  in  speaking  to 
her  had,  as  a  matter  of  course,  uncovered;  and 


30  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

while  she  had  seen  plenty  of  men  without  hats,  this 
was  probably  the  first  time  that  one  had  doffed  his 
on  her  account.  In  common  with  many  women, 
she  loved  incense,  and  had  never  had  nearly 
enough  of  it;  and  this  new  and  delicate  deference 
went  to  her  head. 

She  looked  at  him  accordingly. 

A  woman's  eyes  may  convey  the  subtlest  flattery 
in  this  round  world.  If  the  flattery  is  too  obvious 
and,  so  to  speak,  plainly  labeled,  it  is  rather  apt 
to  put  a  man  off;  but  there  is  another  sort,  sincere 
and  yet  shy,  which  will  wing  its  way  to  the  most 
adamantine  sensibilities.  This  girl's  flattery  was 
of  that  sort  and — Jack's  sensibilities  were  not  pre- 
cisely adamantine. 

"Why,  then,  of  course,  we'll  go  on  there!"  said 
Enid  promptly.  And  to  the  man  she  added: 
"Won't  you  show  us  the  way,  please?"  To  the 
girl:  "Perhaps  you  could  let  me  have  a  glass  of 
water  when  we  get  there.  I'm  so  thirsty !" 

The  man  and  the  girl  of  the  hills  turned  and 
led  the  way  down  the  trail,  and  then  to  another 
trail  aslant  from  it.  With  the  heavy  deep  emerald 
foliage  for  a  setting  they  looked  more  splendid 


A  SHORT  STUDY  IN  CONTRASTS     31 

than  ever.  But  neither  Enid  nor  Jack  turned  eyes 
in  their  direction. 

Enid  toyed  with  her  reins,  and  tried  to  keep  her 
face  averted  from  her  lover.  After  a  moment,  he 
said,  with  some  constraint: 

"Aren't  we  a  bit  late  as  it  is?" 

"Well,"  returned  she,  with  spirit,  "that's  all  the 
more  reason  to  go  the  shortest  way  we  can.  Isn't 
it?" 

"Surely,"  said  Radnor,  "if  you  are  certain  it 
will  be  the  shortest  way." 

They  rode  on  without  speaking  again. 

The  path  ran  in  a  sharp  slant  from  the  upper 
Ridge,  through  close-crowding  mountain  trees.  It 
was  steep  and  rough,  and  deeply  shaded  for  the 
most  part.  Once  in  a  while,  it  would  zig-zag  out 
into  the  orange  light  of  the  late  afternoon,  and 
the  mountainside  would  seem  all  at  once  to  drop 
away  from  them,  leaving  man  and  girl  riding  only 
on  the  edge  of  open  space. 

The  lower  hills,  heavily  plumaged  with  rich  and 
various  gradations  of  green,  swept  in  great  waves 
to  the  east.  A  stormy  enough  sea  they  made  at 
close  range,  but  as  they  melted  into  the  purples 


32  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

and  blues  of  distance,  they  grew  calmer  of  aspect, 
presenting  a  misty,  undulant  expanse,  softened  by 
miles  of  cloudy  air,  suggestive  of  dreams  and  mys- 
tery. Beyond  rose  the  crests  of  other  and  higher 
mountain  ranges,  saffron  in  the  sunlight,  pure  in- 
digo where  the  cloud  shadows  lay  upon  them. 

They  rode  on  in  silence.  A  constraint  was  on 
them.  More  than  once,  one  or  the  other  would 
draw  a  quick  breath,  startled  by  a  sudden  brilliant 
glimpse  of  sunlit  valley  or  far-off  hills,  but  they 
did  not  speak  to  each  other. 

They  plunged  into  a  darker,  more  thickly 
wooded  stretch.  It  was  the  faintest  possible  trail 
to  follow, — evidently  but  little  traveled,  and  car- 
peted with  moss  and  dead  leaves.  It  smelt  heavily 
of  the  woods,  the  fragrance  that  always  lingers 
where  sunlight  seldom  finds  its  way  between  inter- 
lacing branches.  The  horses'  hoofs  made  no 
sound;  there  was  only  the  infinitesimal  clink  of  the 
bits,  the  subdued  creak  of  leather.  ...  It  was 
cool  and  dim,  and  the  path,  eternally  turning  and 
twisting  before  them,  kept  them  wondering  as  to 
what  was  around  the  next  bend. 

Then,   all  at  once  after  a  sharper  turn  than 


A  SHORT  STUDY  IN  CONTRASTS     33 

usual,  it  suddenly  mounted  toward  a  bare  sky-line. 
There  were  no  more  trees, — only  low  scrub  oaks, 
and  the  other  dwarf  things  that  are  significant  of 
high  places  and  higher  winds.  The  trail  became  as 
steep  to  ascend  as  it  had  been  to  descend.  The 
horses  strained  upward,  stumbled  on  loose  stones, 
and  seemed  to  pull  themselves  to  that  bleak  sky- 
line with  a  series  of  scrambling  plunges.  Another 
effort;  they  were  up!  And — 

This  time  there  was  no  suppressing  the  involun- 
tary gasp.  For,  apparently,  they  were  poised  on 
the  utmost  edge  of  infinity. 

A  little  clearing,  set  at  a  dizzy  angle,  sloped 
straight  before  them  for  perhaps  a  hundred  feet. 
There  was  a  small,  low  house  perched  against  the 
background  of  blue  ether,  and  there  was  a  sign 
nailed  to  the  front  of  it.  Red-brown  roads  ran 
from  it  east  and  west  for  a  few  yards,  then  dis- 
appeared enigmatically  below  the  edge  of  the  pla- 
teau. And  all  around  was  mile  upon  reaching  mile 
of — Nothing!  Clouds,  sky,  swimming  sunshine, 
winds  so  boisterous  and  tingling  that  they  seemed 
almost  visible, — but  nothing  else. 

As  they  gazed  marveling,  a  bird  came  into  view 


34 

far  away,  floating  speck  In  blue  and  golden  space. 
It  looked  immeasurably  lonely,  and  gave  a  strange 
and  convincing  impression  of  the  unbelievable 
height  and  emptiness  of  the  element  through  which 
it  was  slowly  winging  its  way. 

It  was  their  first  sight  of  Four  Trail  Crossing, — 
that  remote  high  place,  posed  sublimely,  almost 
miraculously,  above  the  solid  facts  of  the  old 
brown  earth  and  its  ways. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TOLL-GATE  HOUSE 

I  got  up  the  mountain  edge  and  from  the  top  saw  the  world 
stretch  out.  .  .  .  And  then  I  thought  no  more,  but  my  heart 
leapt  to  meet  the  wind. 

—  MAURICE  HEWLETT. 


VERYTHING  in  this  world  can  be  seen  from 
different  angles,  under  different  lights  that 
make  for  a  million  results  and  eventualities.  The 
lady  in  the  poem  who  said  "yes"  because  it  was 
candle-light  and  not  day,  understood  this  truth. 
We  all  know  that  the  artist's  eye  can  discern  pur- 
ple in  a  rail  fence,  and  it  is  an  indubitable  fact  that 
a  grouchy  German  critic  once  declared  Verdi's 
melodies  to  be  "hard  and  harsh!"  Behold,  my 
comrades,  there  is  no  essential  Truth;  it  is  all  and 
always  a  Point  of  View  ! 

The  sudden  panorama  which  opened  out  before 
35 


3*  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Enid  and  Radnor,  as  they  let  their  horses  advance, 
took  on  an  incredible  glamour  from  the  mood  and 
the  conditions  which  controlled  their  first  glimpse 
of  it.  They  had  seen  wonderful  and  impressive 
views  before,  but  this  seemed  something  new,  and 
utterly  marvelous. 

The  vision  of  mountains  far  beneath  may  sug- 
gest wonder,  awe,  terror,  admiration — a  variety  of 
things.  To  Radnor  and  Enid  certainly,  and  per- 
haps to  the  other  two  as  well,  it  spoke  of  romance 
and  the  impossibly  lovely.  The  trail  just  before 
was  thickly  wooded,  and  when  they  reached  that 
great  open  sweep  of  the  unknown  they  trembled 
and  dreamed. 

The  young  mountain  couple  were  standing  in 
front  of  the  Toll-gate  House  as  Enid  and  Radnor 
rode  down  to  it,  and  in  a  moment  a  very  tall, 
roughly  dressed  man  with  a  flowing  gray  beard 
came  to  the  open  door  and  scrutinized  them  with 
the  keen  peering  look  common  to  those  who  are  ac- 
customed to  facing  the  wind  and  sun. 

"This  is  Dad,"  said  Polly,  briefly  but  with  a  rich 
drawl.  She  seemed  to  consider  it  an  ample  and 
adequate  introduction. 


THE  TOLL-GATE  HOUSE  37 

"Going  to  Middletown?"  the  Toll  Keeper 
asked. 

He  clearly  considered  them  in  the  light  of 
travelers;  so  Polly  felt  it  incumbent  upon  her  to 
elucidate. 

"She  wants  water,"  she  said,  indicating  Enid. 

The  Toll  Keeper's  face  changed  pleasantly.  He 
promptly  became  unofficial  and  cordial.  They 
were  now  his  guests  and  he  received  them  accord- 
ingly. 

"We  can  find  her  something  better  than  water!" 
he  exclaimed.  "Polly,  can't  you  make  some  tea?" 

He  was  looking  at  Enid  with  a  kind  sharpness 
that  puzzled  her.  One  would  almost  have  said 
that  he  found  something  familiar  about  her,  and 
could  not  entirely  place  it. 

Still  looking  at  her  closely,  and  in  a  gentle  tone 
that  contrasted  in  a  singular  fashion  with  his  un- 
polished appearance,  he  added,  "May  I  help  you 
down?" 

They  noted  that  he  did  not  say  "ma'am,"  and 
that  when  he  came  to  her  stirrup  it  was  with  a  car- 
riage and  air  lacking  alike  in  self-consciousness  or 
servility. 


38  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

When  they  had  dismounted,  the  younger  moun- 
taineer went  with  Radnor  to  the  barn,  and  helped 
him  with  the  two  saddle  horses.  Enid  meanwhile 
went  in  to  the  Toll-gate  House  with  the  old  man 
and  his  daughter. 

So  it  came  about  that  these  four  went  together 
to  the  Toll  Gate  and  Four  Trail  Crossing,  and 
were  made  welcome  by  Richard  Mason,  who  kept 
it  and  who  was  the  girl's  father.  It  appeared  that 
her  name  was  Polly :  the  sunburnt  young  god  who 
was  "going  with  her"  (Enid  had  never  heard  the 
phrase  before)  was  Martin  Hale. 

Richard  Mason  was  what  nearly  anyone  would 
have  styled  a  delightful  and  perfect  type.  Only 
they  would  have  been  reasonably  certain  to  get  the 
type  wrong.  Classifying  types  is  a  tricky  business; 
picking  winners  is  child's  play  to  it.  The  psycholo- 
gist or  the  novelist  or  many  of  those  unnatural,  im- 
pertinent beings  doomed  by  vocation  or  avocation 
to  prey  upon,  and  to  pry  eternally  into,  persons' 
affairs,  would  almost  unanimously  have  put  him 
down  as  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  Old  Moun- 
taineer,— rugged  and  hardy,  not  too  scrupulous 
and  dowered  with  the  inevitable  charm  which 


THE  TOLL-GATE  HOUSE  39 

theater-goers  can  always  discover  in  no  education 
and  objectionable  table  manners. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Toll  Keeper  was  as  per- 
fect a  host  as  Enid  Forsythe  had  ever  met,  for  all 
his  ostentatiously  rough  and  awkward  ways.  He 
was  a  splendid-looking  old  man,  with  great  dignity 
and  authority  of  bearing,  and  when  he  bowed  over 
her  fair  little  hand,  she  had  a  fleeting  impression 
that  he  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  his  part  and 
was  playing  himself! 

He  flatly  refused  toll,  and  insisted  that  they 
make  him  the  debtor  by  taking  tea  in  the  Toll- 
gate  House. 

It  was  the  strangest,  airiest,  most  remote  place 
in  which  Enid  had  ever  been.  It  was  as  clean  and 
fresh  as  water  and  hill  winds  could  keep  it,  but 
there  was  something  more  about  it — something 
free  and  fine  and  far.  After  trying  to  analyze  the 
impression,  she  realized  that  it  was  partly  because 
the  house  stood  so  high,  and  on  such  a  barren 
space,  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  from 
doors  or  windows  but  sky.  One  might  as  well 
have  been  floating  above  the  world.  .  .  . 

Polly   brought   out   queer,    old-fashioned   blue 


40  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

cups,  and  Enid  settled  herself  with  an  air — well 
known  to  her  lover — of  having  made  up  her  will- 
ful little  mind  to  stay — and  probably  to  stay  for 
quite  a  time. 

As  they  had  tea,  they  grew  friendly  enough, 
though  it  was  not  until  much  later  that  Enid  and 
Jack  found  out  any  but  the  most  superficial  partic- 
ulars of  the  lives  of  their  new  acquaintances.  What 
they  learned  later,  we  may  quite  as  well  learn  now. 

Richard  Mason  was  something  of  a  mystery 
even  to  those  who  knew  him  best.  He  had  come 
to  the  hills  many  years  before,  had  married  a 
woman  of  the  mountains,  and  had  never  to  any- 
one's knowledge,  left  the  upper  range  even  for  a 
day.  There  was  a  vague  general  impression  that 
he  had  been  a  man  of  education  before  he  had 
turned  to  the  wilderness,  though  usually  he  made 
a  point  of  affecting  a  manner  ruder  and  views  more 
primitive  than  his  mountaineer  associates.  On 
rare  occasions  he  had  been  known  to  speak  with 
profound  bitterness  of  some  great  wrong  once 
done  him,  some  unspeakable  injustice  which  after 
these  many  years  could  still  whip  him  to  fury  with 
a  bare  recollection.  But  he  made  no  close  confi- 


THE  TOLL-GATE  HOUSE  41 

dants.  Perhaps  the  most  intimate  friend  he  had 
was  Martin  Hale. 

It  was  an  odd  friendship;  for  they  were  thirty 
years  and  more  apart  in  age,  and  both  were  silent 
men,  solitary  by  nature  and  sternly  reticent.  But 
they  liked  and  understood  each  other,  and  when 
Hale  had  proposed  to  Polly,  unemotional  as  he 
had  made  himself,  Mason  had  felt  something  al- 
most akin  to  joy  in  the  thought  of  giving  his  girl 
into  such  good  keeping. 

Martin  Hale  had  been  born  in  the  mountains, 
of  a  long  race  of  mountain  people.  Something  of 
the  hills'  strength  and  quiet,  something  of  their  dig- 
nity and  aloofness,  had  gone  to  his  making.  Like 
all  mountain-bred  folk,  he  had  strange  eyes;  they 
seemed  focused  on  horizons,  infinitely  wider  than 
those  of  people  of  the  valleys ;  they  looked  always 
a  trifle  absent  and  abstracted,  as  though  seeing 
visions  and  dreaming  dreams. 

He  had  lived  all  his  life  among  the  hills  where 
he  was  born.  His  father  was  a  type  by  no  means 
uncommon  in  the  Virginias;  a  man  of  good  and 
sound  stock,  but  a  stock  run  wild.  With  no  edu- 
cation himself,  old  Hale  had  seen  no  reason  why 


42  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

his  son  should  have  any.  Martin's  secret  mastery 
of  reading  and  writing  had,  when  discovered  by  his 
father,  been  the  cause  of  their  first  stormy  quarrel. 
First,  but  far  from  last.  The  two  had  wrangled 
intermittently  for  the  length  of  the  elder  man's 
life,  and  the  bitterness  of  his  early  youth  had  in- 
evitably increased  Martin's  innate  reserve.  He 
had  gone  on  with  his  reading,  and  had  contrived  to 
give  himself  a  measure  of  education,  but,  although 
his  father  had  left  him  with  enough  money,  he  had 
never  availed  himself  of  the  possibility  of  going 
away  to  see  the  world  of  men.  As  a  boy  he  had 
dreamed  of  faring  forth  to  dare  and  do,  but  as  a 
man  he  shrank  from  it.  He  found  himself  with 
each  year  growing  more  a  part  of  his  native 
ranges,  and  now  indeed  it  seemed  to  him  that  he 
could  scarcely  breathe  any  air  but  that  of  Liberty 
Ridge. 

But  his  love  for  the  refined  and  graceful  and 
cultivated  things  of  life  and  civilization  remained. 
It  was  the  same  instinct  which  had  made  him  turn 
to  books  and  fight  for  them.  Mountaineer  though 
he  was,  he  would  always  be  essentially  a  man  to 
whom  the  delicate,  the  rare,  the  fine,  the  balanced 


THE  TOLL-GATE  HOUSE  43 

and  restrained,  would  speak  in  a  special  music  of 
their  own. 

This  impromptu  tea  party  was  an  epoch-mak- 
ing affair  for  Hale.  He  was  too  shy  to  look  at 
Enid  very  often,  but  he  was  acutely  conscious  of 
her  all  the  time.  And  he  liked  Jack  Radnor  at 
once. 

An  instant  freemasonry  sprang  up  between  the 
two  young  men.  Each  recognized  in  the  other 
something  big  and  vital  and  male,  something 
which  they  could  mutually  respect.  Jack  Radnor, 
in  spite  of  his  superficial  conventionality,  was  very 
democratic  at  heart.  There  was  not  a  trace  of 
snobbishness  in  him,  and  the  young  mountaineer 
had  fine  enough  acumen  to  sense  the  fact,  and  to 
accept  the  Valley  man  as  an  equal  and  as  a  possible 
friend. 

It  was  "Radnor"  and  "Hale"  within  twenty 
minutes,  and  immediately  they  plunged  deep  in 
man's  talk  of  riding  and  shooting  and  fishing, 
while  Enid  made  friends  with  the  Toll  Keeper  and 
his  daughter. 

The  old  man  was  easy  enough  to  get  on  with, 
but  the  dark,  lovely  girl  was  as  shy  as  some  sensi- 


44  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

tive  wild  creature  of  her  own  mountains,  and 
disposed,  it  seemed,  to  regard  Miss  Forsythe, 
if  not  precisely  as  an  enemy,  at  least  as  an  in- 
truder. 

Now,  though  Jack  Radnor  liked  old  Mason  and 
young  Hale,  and  admired  Polly — who  had  never 
looked  more  beautiful  than  she  did  now  as  she 
moved  with  her  quiet  lynx-like  step  about  the 
room, — he  still  felt  annoyed  with  Enid.  She  had 
pointedly  ignored  his  existence  since  they  had  met 
the  mountain  couple,  and,  though  in  many  ways 
Radnor  was  a  simple  soul,  he  did  not  like  it.  Also, 
once  in  a  while,  he  really  preferred  to  have  his 
own  way.  So  did  Enid. 

It  is  odd  that  temperamental  persons  can  almost 
never  understand  each  other.  He  who  is  addicted 
to  moods  and  impulses  is  as  a  rule  the  last  to  com- 
prehend the  moods  and  impulses  of  others.  So, 
when  Enid,  acting  on  an  impetuous  and  entirely 
insincere  instinct,  said:  "How  lovely!  Of  course, 
I  shall  stay  for  tea  1"  Jack  was  furious. 

"Don't  you  think  your  mother  will  be  anxious?" 
he  remarked,  as  formally  and  coolly  as  he  could — 
for  he  deeply  desired  to  shake  her. 


THE  TOLL-GATE  HOUSE  45 

Enid  adored  her  mother,  and,  if  Jack  had  not 
admonished  her  in  that  superior  and  chilly  way, 
she  would  doubtless  have  expressed  contrition, 
anxiety  and  a  wish  to  relieve  the  maternal  mind 
as  swiftly  as  possible.  As  it  was,  she  hastily 
killed  a  pang  which  was  beginning  to  rend  her 
conscience,  and  turned  a  perverse  back  upon  her 
fiance. 

"I  am  sure  that  Mother  will  know  that  I  am 
quite  able  to  take  care  of  myself!"  she  said,  even 
more  icily  than  he  had  spoken. 

It  was  impossible  to  mistake  the  inference.  So 
far  as  taking  care  of  her  went,  Jack  Radnor  was 
as  completely  dimissed,  not  to  say  eliminated,  as 
though  she  had  rubbed  him  off  the  slate. 

He  went  white  with  anger  this  time,  and  said 
frigidly: 

"In  that  case,  and  since  you  don't  need  me,  I 
shall  explore  the  neighborhood.  Hale,  will  you 
have  a  cigarette  with  me  outside?" 

He  could  not  have  stayed  in  the  same  room 
with  her  another  moment  without  becoming  vio- 
lent. 

The  young  man  went  out  with  him,  and  both 


46  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

girls  followed  them  with  their  eyes — with  what 
a  conflict  and  complexity  of  thoughts  and  emotions 
no  mere  writer  could  record. 

The  cigarettes  lighted,  Jack  remarked  casually: 
"By  the  bye,  just  whereabouts  is — Gray  Crag?" 


CHAPTER  V 

GIRLS 

To  mount  a  hill  is  to  lift  with  you  something  lighter  and 
brighter  than  yourself  or  than  any  meaner  burden.  You  lift  the 
world,  you  raise  the  horizon;  you  give  a  signal  for  the  distance 
to  stand  up.  .  .  .  The  distances  unfold  unlocked  for 
wings.  .  .  . 

— ALICE  MEYNELL. 

A  BIT  later  Martin  Hale  came  back  into  the 
room  of  the  Toll-gate  House,  with  the 
shadow  of  a  grin  upon  his  handsome  face.  The 
golden-haired  lady  had  asked  him  to  go  to  Gray 
Crag  for  the  superlatively  lovely  mountain  laurel, 
but  it  was  the  other  fellow  who  had  hazarded  that 
enterprise  for  her  after  all.  And  who  was  he  to 
stop  Jack  Radnor  from  risking  his  neck  for  a 
whim  of  his  sweetheart's  if  he  wanted  to?  They 
were  both  men,  and  they  played  a  man's  game. 

47 


48  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Where  is  Mr.  Radnor?"  aked  Enid  Forsythe, 
before  she  had  time  to  think.  Then  she  flushed 
and  bit  her  lips. 

"Oh,  round  somewhere,"  said  Hale,  with 
another  slight  grin. 

Polly  had  one  of  her  quiet,  almost  uncanny  in- 
spirations. 

"I  reckon  he's  gone  to  Gray  Crag  for  that  lau- 
rel," she  drawled. 

Enid  stared  from  one  to  the  other  of  them. 
Martin  Hale  nodded  slowly. 

"Gray  Crag,"  she  repeated.  "Where —  But 
of  course,  I  remember —  But  you  said  it  was 
awfully  hard  to  climb !" 

"Nastiest  bit  hereabouts,"  agreed  old  Mason, 
cheerfully. 

Enid  half  rose  to  her  feet. 

"But — but  it  must  be  dangerous!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Sure !"  nodded  Martin  Hale.  "Leastways,  for 
one  that's  not  used  to  it." 

Enid  controlled  herself,  but  she  found  to  her 
horror  that  her  lips  were  quivering. 

"He — he'll  never  be  able  to  do  it!"  she  said. 


GIRLS  49 

"Of  course,  he'll  give  it  up,  and  turn  back,  when 
he  finds " 

"Not  he!"  said  Martin  Hale.  "He'll  do  it  all 
right." 

He  liked  Jack  Radnor. 

"He's  all  right?"  said  Mason  to  Hale,  with 
marked  emphasis. 

"Sure!  But  there'll  be  trouble  to-night,  take  it 
from  me." 

"I'm  afraid  so!"  said  the  Toll  Keeper.  Then, 
as  though  dismissing  something,  he  turned  to  Enid. 

"Don't  you  worry,  missy,"  he  said. 

"I'm  not  worrying!"  she  said  sharply,  and  crim- 
soned resentfully. 

Then  dimly  conscious  that  her  very  denial  had 
in  a  sense  convicted  her,  she  flushed  more  deeply 
than  before,  and,  turning  to  her  young  hostess, 
said,  "Won't  you  let  me  brush  my  hair,  please?  It 
must  be  shockingly  messy!" 

Polly  led  the  way  to  her  own  room  without  a 
word,  but  a  sort  of  wonder  was  in  Martin  Hale's 
eyes.  Did  this  slim  little  gold-haired  goddess 
really  think  that  she  needed  a  brush — or  anything 
else  for  that  matter — to  make  her  more  dainty, 


50  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

more  adorable  than  she  was?  Never  had  Hale 
seen  such  fineness  and  delicacy;  such  trimness  and 
perfection  of  finish.  If  only  Polly  would  keep  her 
hair  tidy,  like  that,  and  take  pains  with  her  clothes, 
and — his  vague  discontent  trailed  off  uncertainly. 
Even  he  realized  that  Polly  could  never  be  a  sec- 
ond Enid.  They  were  types  as  different  as  the 
poles.  Hale  with  his  curious  poet's  soul  yearned 
at  present  toward  the  refinements  of  life  rather 
than  the  elementals.  To  him,  though  he  hesitated 
at  admitting  as  much  to  himself,  Polly  seemed 
overblown;  not  quite  coarse  (she  had  too  much 
natural  sweetness  and  dignity  for  that)  but  cer- 
tainly too  primitive.  Enid  to  this  man  of  the 
mountains  stood  for  those  fragile,  idealistic  things 
that  one  may  dream  of  without  daring  to  think 
of  touching. 

Masks!  Is  there  anyone  who  does  not  wear 
them,  and  wear  them  to  their  own  undoing  at  that? 
Polly,  had  he  only  known  it,  was  far  closer  to  the 
girl  of  his  ideals — the  spiritual,  aloof  thing  that  he 
had  made  a  mental  picture  of, — than  Enid.  Enid 
was  as  much  more  of  a  savage  primitive  woman, 
for  all  her  well-cut  clothes,  and  her  dainty  ways, 


GIRLS  51 

as  Radnor  was  more  of  a  savage,  primitive  man 
than  this  tanned  young  mountaineer.  Right  at 
their  hand,  you  perceive,  just  what  each  wanted,  to 
be  had  for  the  asking — and  none  of  the  four  knew 
it! 

Polly  Mason's  bedroom  was  shabby,  but  it 
showed  a  distinct  effort  toward  beauty.  Clearly 
this  girl,  who  had  admitted  during  their  talk  that 
she  only  visited  the  Valley  for  semi-annual  shop- 
ping expeditions,  had  an  artist's  soul  in  her, 
evinced  in  a  dozen  pretty  tricks  of  arrangement, 
and  light,  and  decoration. 

All  around  the  room  was  a  dado  or  frieze 
of  something  so  new  and  exquisite  that  Enid 
exclaimed  involuntarily  at  sight  of  it.  Subcon- 
sciously, she  had  been  hunting  for  something  of 
Polly's  (beside  the  girl  herself)  that  she  could 
admire  wholeheartedly.  Well,  she  had  found 
it! 

A  foot  or  so  below  the  ceiling  ran  the  frieze,  and 
It  was  made  all  of  leaves — beautiful  silhouettes  of 
leaves  on  a  silvery  background,  truly  lovely,  In- 
describably decorative.  Enid's  Inexperienced  eyes 
picked  out  maples,  rose-red,  brownish-green  oak- 


52  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

leaves,  and  many  others,  all  in  their  natural  and 
inimitable  colors. 

"And  that?"  she  questioned  softly,  pointing 
with  her  riding  crop  to  a  delicate  five-leaved  out- 
line. "Woodbine,  isn't  it?" 

"We  all  call  it  Virginia  Creeper,"  replied  Polly 
Mason.  "You  see,  two  of  the  leaves  are  red;  I 
got  it  in  the  fall." 

Enid  looked  again  more  closely. 

"Why,  they're  all  real!"  she  exclaimed  in  won- 
der. 

Polly  laughed. 

1  'Course  they're  real,"  she  said.  "You  don't 
suppose  we  can  afford  to  buy  picture-things,  Dad 
and  I,  do  you?" 

She  explained  the  process:  that  of  picking  the 
most  perfect  leaf  specimens  possible,  pressing 
them  carefully,  and  mounting  them  on  squares  of 
birch  bark. 

"Mart  cuts  the  bark,"  she  said,  "and  sees 
that  it's  even.  Then  we  glaze  it — cover  it  with 
varnish,  and — and — it  looks  right  pretty,  don't 
you  think?" 

"I  think  it's  too  lovely  for  words !"  Enid  replied 


GIRLS  53 

with  sincerity.  "But  how  do  you  keep  the  pro- 
portion— the  balance — the  composition " 

She  sought  for  words  that  would  be  com- 
prehensible for  the  other.  But  Polly  understood 
her  easily  enough,  and  found  words  for  her, 
too. 

"You  mean — how  do  I  know  what  leaves  to  put 
next  each  other?"  she  suggested,  with  simplicity. 
"Which  won't  spoil  the  others?" 

Enid  nodded. 

"It — it's  so  right  I"  she  said.  "Your  taste  must 
be  very  perfect  and  true !" 

"I've  always  liked  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  the 
mountain  girl  indifferently.  "Here's  a  brush  and 
comb,  if  you-all  want  to  fix  your  hair." 

Enid  began  to  pull  out  hairpins,  and  her  vividly 
golden  locks  fell  in  shining  waves  about  her  shoul- 
ders. Busied  with  their  arrangement,  she  did  not 
notice  the  look  in  Polly's  eyes  as  she  stared  at  the 
bright  ripples.  Then  a  question,  very  slowly 
drawled,  fell  on  her  ears: 

"Do  you  dye  it  often?" 

She  turned  and  stared,  with  the  hair-brush  in 
her  hand. 


54  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Heavens,  no!"  she  gasped.  "I  don't  dye  it  at 
all.  Why  on  earth  should  you  think  that?" 

"I  didn't  know  the  Lord  ever  made  anyone  with 
hair  that  color,"  said  Polly,  calmly.  "I  thought 
they  had  to  do  it  themselves.  I  know  I'd  be  will- 
ing to !  Look  at  my  hair !" 

She  pulled  forward  a  ruffled  dark  tress,  and 
glowered  at  it;  then  she  turned  her  spendid  eyes 
upon  Enid's. 

They  stared  at  each  other  in  a  rather  hostile 
fashion  for  almost  a  minute;  then,  suddenly,  they 
both  laughed,  and  so  became  friends. 

The  law  of  equation  is  a  queer  thing;  hard  men 
married  to  saccharine  wives  find  their  outlook 
broadening  and  softening  in  proportion  as  the 
ladies  become  more  and  more  restricted  and 
adamantine  in  their  ideas.  Because  the  society 
girl  and  Polly  of  Four  Trail  Crossing  were  so  un- 
like, an  uncanny  sympathy  sprang  up  between 
them.  The  men  in  whom  they  were  interested 
figured  largely  of  course, — men  always  do, — but, 
to  their  mutual  astonishment,  the  girls  themselves 
liked  each  other,  independently  of  any  male  ele- 
ment. 


GIRLS  55 

"You're  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw  in  all  my 
life !"  Enid  said  to  Polly,  with  an  honesty  that 
robbed  the  remark  of  insolence. 

Polly  laughed  outright  at  that,  and  showed  her 
white  teeth. 

"So  are  you  I"  she  cried. 

Then  they  laughed  together,  and  all  at  once 
some  mask  which  each  of  them  had  felt  bound  to 
wear  dropped,  and  they  stared  at  each  other,  with 
the  laughter,  warm  and  sympathetic,  on  their  lips. 

"Listen  to  me !"  said  Enid  impetuously,  throwing 
aside  the  brush.  She  looked  like  an  adorable  little 
girl  when  her  hair  was  down.  "He — Mr.  Hale — 
said  something  just  now  about — trouble.  Is  he — 
are  any  of  you  in  trouble,  truly?" 

Polly  hesitated,  but  the  other  girl's  golden  eyes 
were  so  clear  and  candid  that  she  made  an  impul- 
sive movement  nearer  her. 

"You  know,"  Enid  went  on  eagerly,  "I  do  want 
to  help — somehow — if  I  can!" 

Polly  hardly  knew  how  to  answer  her;  how  to 
put  the  situation.  She  did  not  express  herself 
readily  anyway,  she  had  few  woman-friends,  and 
training  of  years  had  made  her  secretive  concern- 


56  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

ing  mountain  matters.  But  something  sweet  and 
sincere  and  girlish  in  this  "young  lady  from  the 
valley"  broke  down  a  great  barrier  in  a  very 
speedy  fashion,  and,  answering  Enid's  quick,  sym- 
pathetic outreaching  of  hands  by  putting  hers  into 
them,  she  said,  rather  huskily: 

"We're  all  in  bad, — Dad,  and — and  Mart, — 
and  the  bunch.  The  others — the  rest  of  our  folks 
have  gotten  a  heap  more  daring  lately — more  rot- 
ten, Dad  and  Mart  say;  and — You  won't  tell?" 

"Tell!"  Enid's  voice  rang  with  a  fiery  scorn. 
She  flung  her  arm  about  the  other's  shoulder.  "Go 
on — please!" 

With  her  face  hidden,  and  speaking  almost  as 
though  it  were  against  her  will  yet  pressing  closer 
to  that  slender  protecting  arm,  Polly  tried  to  ex- 
plain : 

"There  are  a  lot  of  things  that  Dad  and  Mart 
won't  do.  They — they're  not  strong  for  the  law, 
either  of  'em,  but  they  believe  in  fair  play  and 
decency.  But  some  of  the  others  get — sort  of 
crazy;  and  they — we  all  have  to  stand  together. 
See?" 

In  truth,  Enid  was  beginning  to  see. 


GIRLS  57 

"You  mean,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  your  father 
and  Martin  Hale  have  to  stick  to  this  gang  they're 
in  with,  even  when  things  are  done  that  they  don't 
approve  of,  and  wouldn't  do  themselves?" 

Polly  nodded. 

"It's  pretty  hard  on  them,"  she  said.  "They 
can't  give  any  of  the  lot  away,  but " 

"But,"  interrupted  Enid  vehemently,  "why  don't 
they  break  away  from  them?  They  can  do  that 
surely!" 

Polly  looked  at  her,  smiled  quietly,  and  shook 
her  dark  head. 

"I  reckon  you-all  don't  know  much  about  the 
mountains,"  she  said.  "  'Tisn't  healthy  to  back  out, 
once  you're  in, — not  among  us  it  isn't !" 

"They're  not  afraid!"  Enid  started  as  if  stung. 

And  over  Polly's  warm  brown  face  spread  a 
deep  flush  of  resentment  and  pride  in  one. 

"I  reckon  there's  not  much  this  side  of  hell 
they're  afraid  of,  either  of  'em!"  she  said,  with- 
drawing. "But — there's  someone  in  the  Valley 
that  has  hold  on  'em.  I  don't  rightly  know  who 
it  is,  but  they  can't  afford  to  get  into  trouble,  either 
way,  because  he  could  get  back  at  'em  too  hard." 


5  8  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"But  even  so,"  broke  Enid  hotly,  from  the 
depths  of  her  inexperience,  "they're  men,  and  can 
face  it!  There's  no  real  reason " 

"There's— me,"  said  Polly. 

The  resentment  had  died  out  of  her  voice  and 
face.  She  stood  before  Enid  a  little  limply, 
strangely  humble  in  her  admission  of  being,  in  some 
psychological  fashion,  a  burden.  She  seemed  al- 
most to  have  shrunk  in  physical  stature  in  a  single 
moment. 

Enid  stared  at  her,  realizing  the  situation  which 
demanded  the  "false  truth"  of  males  for  the  pro- 
tection of  the  women  they  loved  best.  Then  she 
held  out  her  arms,  with  her  face  breaking  into 
lovable,  beautiful  little  lines  of  understanding  and 
sympathy. 

"Oh,  you  poor  darling!"  she  murmured,  and 
her  voice  shook. 

Polly  went  into  her  arms  without  a  word. 

Somehow,  without  many  words,  things  got 
cleared  up  and  explained  in  a  marvelous  fashion 
then.  With  Enid's  bright  gold  hair  falling  over 
Polly's  dark  head,  with  their  two  voices  mixing 
and  sobbing  and  breaking  off,  the  thing  became 


GIRLS  59 

extraordinarily  plain,  without  any  accurate  exposi- 
tion of  the  facts  in  the  case.  Words  are,  after  all, 
the  least  useful  of  all  means  of  human  expression. 

As  it  turned  out  from  Polly's  eloquent,  if  incoher- 
ent, whispers  and  her  still  more  eloquent  hesita- 
tions, it  was  not  that  any  individual  of  the  "gang" 
had  designs  upon  her.  It  was  only  that  Polly  had 
learned  a  simple,  rather  terrible  truth  that  in  the 
wild  places  of  the  world  a  woman  is  always  a  fac- 
tor tremendous  for  good  or  evil — usually  the 
latter. 

"Are  any  of  them  in  love  with  you  then?"  asked 
Enid — adding  quickly,  "I  mean " 

She  stopped,  but  Polly  flushed  as  though  she 
interpreted  what  she  did  not  say. 

"  'Tisn't  that,"  she  said,  very  low.  "But  Dad 
says — when  men  like  that  are  round  he'd  sooner 
lock  me  up  than  the  toll-takings." 

She  dropped,  shamed  and  serious,  in  saying  this. 
But  Enid,  looking  at  her,  experienced  an  odd  sen- 
sation. She  found  it  difficult  to  analyze  it  at  first, 
and  it  appalled  her  when  she  realized  with  a  shock 
that  she  almost  envied  Polly  because  she  was  so 
much  desired, 


CHAPTER  VI 

ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES 

.    .    .    One  whose  tedious  toil 
Had  watched  for  years  in  forlorn  hermitage, 
Who  had  not  from  mid-life  to  utmost  age 
Eased  in  one  accent  his  o'er-burdened  soul, 
Even  to  the  trees.     .     .     . 

— JOHN  KEATS. 

1\/r  ARTIN  HALE  and  old  Mason  smoked  in 
the  living-room  of  the  Toll-gate  House. 
The  winds  that  were  never  still  at  the  Crossing 
talked  insistently  at  the  doors  and  windows — in- 
terpolating, interrupting,  interpreting  as  winds 
will.  The  younger  man  was  restless,  more  than 
once  he  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fire  and  went  to 
stare  out  into  the  cloudy  dusk;  more  than  once  he 
glanced  at  the  closed  door  of  Polly's  room  behind 
which  the  two  girls  still  talked  inaudibly. 

60 


ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES       61 

The  older  man  was  thinking  of  the  past,  the 
younger  of  the  future, — no !  Not  of  the  future ! 
It  was  the  present  that  Martin  Hale  thought  of. 
.  .  .  And  oddly  enough,  the  thoughts  of  both  of 
them  centered  on  Enid,  the  lovely  little  lady  from 
the  Valley.  To  the  Toll  Keeper  she  stood  sym- 
bolic of  all  that  he  had  once  had — and  lost. 

Polly's  mother  had  been  a  shy,  silent  creature 
of  the  hills;  it  was  not  of  her  that  he  was  think- 
ing. She  had  been  beautiful  in  a  wildwood  style, 
but  neither  clever  nor  of  vivid  personality.  Polly 
had  inherited  her  physical  loveliness  but  little  else. 
It  was  Richard  Mason's  own  keen  mind  and 
vibrant  vitality  which  made  the  girl  so  splendidly 
appealing  and  alive.  Mason,  soured  and  embit- 
tered by  early  wrongs,  had  turned  savagely  to  the 
opposites  of  everything  which  before  had  gone  to 
make  up  life  for  him.  A  man  of  violent  extremes 
in  all  things,  he  plunged  into  primitive  existence  as 
fiercely,  as  whole-heartedly  as,  in  his  first  youth, 
he  had  plunged  into  the  subtler  atmosphere  of 
civilization.  He  was  determined  that  the  future 
should  be  as  widely  different  as  possible  from  the 
past. 


62  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Because  he  had  been  in  his  day  something  of  an 
exquisite  in  a  wholesome  way,  he  took  a  perverse 
pleasure  in  adopting  the  rough  clothes  and  rougher 
manners  of  the  mountaineers;  because  he  had  once 
been  impulsive  and  gregarious,  he  now  elected  to 
live  almost  entirely  alone,  consorting  only  with  men 
as  habitually  unsocial  as  himself.  Because  the 
girl  he  had  loved  had  been  the  quintessence  of 
daintiness  and  breeding,  a  charming,  polished 
young  creature  who  was  the  veritable  flower  of 
his  Great  World,  he  chose  for  his  wife  the  inarticu- 
late, shy  woman  of  the  hills  who  was  Polly's 
mother. 

And  as  he  sat  there  smoking  he  was  think- 
ing of  that  other  girl.  She  was  smiling  at 
him  across  a  great  gulf  of  years,  but  even 
from  so  great  a  distance  the  smile  came  beauti- 
fully familiar.  It  was  a  smile  which  was  an  old 
friend.  .  .  . 

Martin  Hale  took  another  restless  turn  up  and 
down  the  room,  he  had  let  his  pipe  go  out.  The 
Toll  Keeper  watched  him  without  seeming  to  do 
so  for  a  space;  at  last  he  laid  his  pipe  down  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair  and  spoke  in  the  quiet  way  that 


ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES       63 

never  jars  upon  the  most  ragged  nerves  nor  the 
most  capricious  moods: 

"Funny,  isn't  it,  how  all  at  once  a  little  thing'll 
set  you-all  off  your  track?" 

Hale  started  and  stood  in  his  uneasy  pacing. 
The  older  man  continued  meditatively,  as  though 
to  himself. 

"There's  me,  for  instance.  Live  shut  up  in  these 
hills — funny  thing  to  say  'shut  up'  in  the  hills,  eh, 
boy?  But  I  reckon  you  could  feel  shut  up  in  God 
Almighty's  house  of  mansions  if  you  weren't — 
well,  let's  say  acclimated  some !  But  anyhow  I've 
been  here,  rooted  at  Four  Trail  Crossing  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century  and  never  a  jolt  in  all  that 
time  to  get  me  out  of  the  rut  that  was  leading 
straight  to  the  grave." 

He  paused,  picked  up  the  pipe  and  puffed. 

"Well?"  said  Martin  Hale,  rather  gruffly. 

"Eh?"  Mason  had  apparently  forgotten  what 
he  had  been  speaking  of. 

"What  has — jolted  you?" 

"That  little  girl  there."  The  Toll  Keeper 
jerked  his  head  sideways  toward  the  closed  door. 

"You  mean,  Miss " 


64  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Yes,  her.  She's  like  a  little  piece  out  of  my 
young  days  come  to  life  after  all  this  time — 
after  all  this  time!" 

He  gazed  into  the  fire  with  the  veil  of  dreams 
showing  before  his  face. 

"She's  very  beautiful,"  said  the  young  man,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  he  spoke  with  difficulty. 

"Eh?  Oh,  yes — beautiful.  She's  more  than 
that.  She's  just  all  the  sweetness  and  the  foolish- 
ness and  the  lovingness  and  the  unreasonableness 
of  girls  tied  up  in  one  dear  little  woman.  Our 
Polly's  worth  ten  of  her,  I  reckon,  but  that  yel- 
low-haired lassie  is  going  to  make  more  trouble 
and  more  joy  than  ever  Polly  will.  ...  I  loved 
a  girl  once  that  was  the  copy  of  her.  The  same 
gold  hair  and  gold  eyes  and  the  same  pretty  way 
with  her  that  said:  'Do  it  for  me  because  no 
one  can  have  so  much  right  to  it  as  I,  and  it's 
mighty  nice  of  me  to  let  you  do  it!'  Yes,  just 
such  another." 

Old  Mason  laughed  rather  tenderly.  Hale  and 
he  were  not  of  the  kind  given  to  exchanging  con- 
fidences, but  in  a  moment  the  young  man  said 
bluntly,  yet  without  impertinence. 


ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES       65 

44 What  happened?" 

"Happened?  Oh,  my  best  friend  lied  about  me 
and  kicked  me  out  of  her  running.  That's  why  I 
came  up  here  to  the  hills.  I  married  Polly's 
mother,  and — and — I've  never  seen  the  Valley 
since — I've  even  stopped  thinking  of  it  much  until 
— until  to-night.  That  girl  set  me — thinking — " 

"And  the  other  girl — the  one  you  loved — mar- 
ried the  other  chap,  I  suppose?" 

The  old  man's  face  hardened  grimly. 

"No.  That  she  didn't!  She  married,  but  not 
him.  I've  yet  my  score  to  settle  with  him.  I  don't 
know  where  she  is  now.  But  after  all  these  years 
she  seems  to-night  to  stand  almost  at  my  elbow. 
An  old  fool  I  am,  to  be  sure!" 

The  door  of  Polly's  room  opened  quickly  and 
Enid  Forsythe  came  out.  Her  face  was  pale  and 
eager;  her  golden  eyes  burned  like  stars. 

"Mr.  Hale,"  she  said  abruptly,  and  with  a  sort 
of  sweet  authority,  very  characteristic  of  her, 
"won't  you  let  me  speak  to  you  a  moment?" 

Though  she  did  not  add  the  word  "alone"  it 
made  itself  almost  audible  in  the  pause  that  fol- 
lowed her  swift  speech.  And  her  simple  and 


66  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

naturally  imperial  manner  robbed  the  request  of 
any  element  of  discourtesy  to  the  Toll  Keeper. 
Here,  it  seemed,  was  an  inherently  royal  young 
creature  so  sure  of  herself  as  to  be  able  to  com- 
mand and  request  with  equal  immunity  from  the 
suggestion  of  offense. 

Without  a  word  Martin  Hale  rose  and,  going 
to  the  door,  held  it  open  for  her.  She  passed 
through  it,  and  he  followed,  closing  it  behind  them. 
Polly  came  slowly  out  from  the  room  and  her  eyes 
grew  vaguely  troubled  as  she  stared  at  the  door 
through  which  they  had  gone.  Her  father  looked 
at  her  and  sighed.  Then  he  fixed  his  wise  old 
eyes  once  more  upon  the  fire  before  him  and  went 
on  smoking. 

Outside  Enid  and  Hale  stood  in  the  swirl  of  the 
quickening  breezes  that  swept  the  plateau  before 
the  Toll-gate  House.  The  sky  was  beryl  green  in 
the  west;  the  valleys  lay  a  tumbled  chaos  of  black 
and  purple  and  blue  ...  the  sigh  of  innumer- 
able voices  was  in  the  air — a  faint  and  plaintive 
clamor  of  urgent  yet  untranslatable  tongues.  The 
cold,  clean,  scentless  savor  of  the  hilltops  reached 
their  nostrils  and  the  delicate  chill  of  summer 


ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES      67 

nights  among  the  clouds  made  Enid  shiver 
lightly. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Hale,"  she  began  quickly,  and 
then  she  hesitated.  The  mountaineer  was  looking 
at  her  in  a  steady,  disconcerting  sort  of  way.  He 
bulked  big  against  the  evening  sky,  and  with  noth- 
ing behind  him  on  the  horizon  line  it  gave  her  a 
queer  sense  that  he  was  for  the  moment  the  only 
fact  of  creation.  She  did  not  quite  know  how  to 
go  on.  But,  as  he  waited,  in  that  still  strength  of 
his  which  thrilled  her  with  its  potentialities,  she 
made  shift  to  begin  again,  more  haltingly. 

"She — she  told  me  that  you  were  in  some  sort 
of  trouble." 

"Polly?" 

She  nodded. 

"Polly  oughtn't  to  talk,"  was  his  comment,  ac- 
companied by  a  frown;  she  could  see  it  in  this  open 
half-light  of  eventide. 

"But  you  said  so  yourself,  didn't  you — or  Im- 
plied it?"  Enid  went  on  swiftly,  her  great  eyes 
pleading  and  clear.  "I  'must  know  of  some  way 
to  help !  Won't  you  show  me  how  to  help  you, — 
to  help  you-all?" 


68  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

It  was  not  altogether  her  fault  that  the  last 
word  came  as  an  afterthought — even  though  a 
hurried  one.  The  man's  personality  was  unmis- 
takably convincing;  when  she  was  with  him  it  was 
paramountly  him  first  of  all  whom  she  wished  to 
help.  She  was  not  flirting  with  him;  she  was 
merely  demonstrating  the  fact  that  she  was  a  real 
woman  and  he  a  real  man. 

Martin  Hale  hesitated,  but  it  was  something 
the  same  with  him  as  it  had  been  with  Polly;  the 
spell  of  the  golden  eyes  held  him  in  spite  of  him- 
self, and  drew  from  him  words  that  he  had  never 
meant  to  utter. 

"There's — trouble  in  the  Valley!"  he  muttered. 

"I  know  that.  Is  it — a  sort  of  double  trouble? 
Something  that  calls  you  there  that  you  don't  want 
to  answer  to?  Is  it?" 

The  man  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  she  real- 
ized that  he  was  sparring  for  time,  and  time  she 
would  not  grant  him.  She  had  an  inspiration. 
Hers  were  not  the  instincts  of  Polly,  but  they  were 
feminine,  which  is  saying  something. 

In  her  well-ordered  young  life  she  seldom  had  a 
chance — a  good,  full-sized  chance — to  use  her  in- 


ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES      69 

tuitions.  Here  it  seemed  was  one,  and  all  the  ad- 
venturous, masked  soul  of  the  girl  rose  to  the  op- 
portunity of  doing  something  at  last! 

"Mr.  Hale,"  she  said,  in  a  lower,  but  a  very  dif- 
ferent tone,  "something  is  being  done — or  is 
going  to  be  done — that  is  wrong.  .  .  .  Isn't 
that  true?" 

He  assented  silently. 

When  she  spoke  again  it  was  in  hushed  tones, 
and  yet  it  came  to  him  like  a  kind  of  cry : 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  this  situation,  and 
— and — I  don't  suppose  a  girl's  much  good  any- 
way, in  times  like  this!  But — I'm  going  to  stick 
to  you  people!  Somehow  I  know  you're  right! 
And  there  might  be  something  I  could  do — I  don't 
know  yet " 

Her  voice  failed  her,  but  she  still  faced  him 
in  the  twilight,  eager  and  honest.  Martin  Hale 
responded  to  her  instantly  and  without  fore- 
thought. 

"It's  all  in  a  nutshell,  Miss  Forsythe.  Since 
Polly's  told  you  so  much,  there's  no  need  hiding 
a  little  more.  The  boys  here  on  the  range  have 
something  on  foot  to-night,  that  Mr.  Mason  and 


70  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

I  would  like  to  stop  if  we  could.  But  we're  stalled 
every  way." 

"If  it's  anything  big "  she  broke  in. 

"It  is — big,"  he  answered  her.  "You  see,  I'm 
trusting  you." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  looking  out  over  the 
blue-green  mist  of  the  shadowed  valleys.  She  was 
not  ironic.  It  was  the  finest  compliment  ever  paid 
her  yet.  "Go  on,"  she  said. 

And  Martin  Hale  went  on: 

"It's  going  to  mean  the  loss  of  money  to  some 
people,  certain  sure.  And  maybe  it'll  be  loss  of 
life  to  others.  I  don't  know  that." 

Enid  shuddered. 

"But,"  she  gasped,  "isn't  there  anything  to  be 
done?  Oh — I  know — I  understand — it's  danger- 
ous to  go  back  on  your  friends,  but  oughtn't  real 
right  to  come  first?  Oh,  please !"  She  was  plead- 
ing with  him,  and  her  voice  shook.  "Isn't  there 
any  way?" 

"I — I  could  tip  off  the  sheriff's  gang,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice.  "I  mean  that,  you  know — tip  off; 
just  that,  and  no  more.  I  wouldn't  tell  on  a  pal 
anyway!"  he  ended  fiercely. 


ENID  OF  THE  GOLDEN  EYES       71 

"But  if  you  could  save  life  and  property " 

"I'd  do  it!"  he  declared,  flinging  up  his  hand- 
some head.  "I'd  do  it,  and  take  my  chances  after- 
wards— if  I  could!" 

"And  why  can't  you " 

"Because  I  haven't  a  horse!  Easy,  isn't  it?" 
He  laughed  bitterly. 

"I  don't  understand!"  Enid  faltered. 

"I  tramped  over  to-day  from  my  own  shack," 
he  said,  "and  if  there's  any  tipping-off  to  be  done, 
it's  got  to  be  quick!" 

"But  surely  they  have  a  horse  here!" 

Hale  laughed,  almost  angrily. 

"A  plug!  That  couldn't  do  a  stiff  stretch  at  a 
stiff  pace  even  in  daylight!  No,  thanks!  I  want 
a  real  horse.  If  I  were  at  heart  one  of — the 
gang — I  don't  suppose  I'd  mind  being  a  horse- 
thief  and  I'd  have  taken  Radnor's.  But — I 
won't!" 

There  was  just  a  moment  of  breathless  waiting. 
Then  Enid  turned  to  him  quickly. 

"Take  mine !"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MOUNTAIN  LAUREL 

There  is  rock  to  the  left,  and  rock  to  the  right,  and  low  lean 

thorn  between, 
And  ye  may  hear  a  breech-bolt  snick  where  never  a  man  is  seen, 

There  was  not  a  man  but  carried  his  feud  with  the  blood  of  the 
mountaineer. 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

1Y/T  EANWHILE,  Jack  Radnor  was  climbing 
Gray  Crag  in  quest  of  mountain  laurel  for 
the  girl  he  loved. 

Gray  Crag  certainly  presented  some  interesting 
exhibits  of  what  Martin  Hale  had  called  "stiff 
climbing."  Jack  was  not  an  expert  mountain 
climber,  though  he  had  done  his  bit  both  in  Swit- 
zerland and  the  Rockies;  but  he  prided  himself 
upon  being  able  to  do  whatever  any  ordinary  able- 

72 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  73 

bodied  man  could  do — not  superlatively  well,  of 
course,  for  he  was  perfectly  modest  about  his  own 
capabilities,  but  certainly  creditably.  It  first  sur- 
prised and  then  annoyed  him  to  find  that  Gray 
Crag  was  the  stiffest  proposition  in  the  climbing 
line  ever  put  up  to  him  yet.  Then  a  sort  of  half- 
amused,  half-grim  defiance  filled  him.  Climb  Gray 
Crag,  would  he?  Well,  watch  'him! 

Climbing  Gray  Crag  was  a  good  deal  like  walk- 
ing up  a  wall,  with  the  added  handicap  of  ledges 
to  which  one  had  to  crawl  from  underneath,  and 
deceptive  footholds  that  were  not  footholds  at 
all,  but  shivering,  flimsy  lumps  of  sand. 

Occasionally  a  pebble  started  by  his  heavy  rid- 
ing boot  would  rattle  off  into — silence.  Occasion- 
ally, the  bush  or  cluster  of  growing  twigs  he  caught 
at  for  his  balance  came  away  in  his  hand,  leaving 
him  for  the  moment  slightly  sick,  as,  glancing  over 
his  shoulder  he  saw  what  lay  beneath  and  behind 
him.  Radnor  was  very  far  removed  from  being  a 
coward,  but — he  had  an  imagination. 

The  fear  of  high  places  is,  in  normally  coura- 
geous natures,  changed  to  the  vital  realization  of 
high  places.  Jack  Radnor,  climbing,  pausing, 


74  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

working  his  way  up  sheer  rock  walls  and  jagged 
granite  slabs,  had  the  strange  sensation  known  to 
aviators  and  alpine  adventurers.  He  was  detached 
from  the  world,  high  above  it,  spiritually  and 
materially  superior  to  it,  and  yet — at  its  mercy. 
The  lower  mountains  tumbled  together  in  huge  and 
mad  disorder,  the  valleys  growing  misty  with  the 
gathering  dusk,  the  rivers  and  ponds  that  he  could 
now  only  locate  by  some  occasional  pin-point  of 
light — they  all  lay  far,  far  below,  mysterious  and 
superbly  cruel.  He  was  an  atom  clinging  to  a  mast 
a  league  high,  and  a  hungry  ocean  waited  for  him. 

Once,  a  great  bird  winged  past  him  with  a  rush 
and  startled  cry,  and  his  hold  nearly  loosened. 
Luckily,  he  had  an  unusually  steady  head  and  had 
never  been  dizzy  in  his  life. 

After  a  century  or  so,  he  pulled  himself  up  to 
an  inconceivably  narrow  summit,  and,  drenched 
and  aching,  threw  himself  down  to  rest. 

Over  him  the  blue  sky  was  turning  to  violet.  A 
faint  rose  glow  was  stealing  into  it — a  tint  re- 
flected in  the  blooming  masses  about  him.  For  he 
had  found  the  mountain  laurel — there  was  no 
question  about  that.  As  he  lay  at  full  length  he 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  75 

reached  out  a  lazy  hand  and  pulled  a  cluster  of  the 
tiny  pink  cups  to  his  face :  they  had  the  fresh,  cool 
earthy  fragrance  of  all  wild  flowers.  After  a  min- 
ute he  rose  and  gathered  an  armful  of  the  lovely 
things. 

And  then  he  started,  for  at  the  root  of  the 
laurel  shrubs  lay  a  revolver — a  heavy  and  old 
weapon,  which  had  seen  service. 

It  was  growing  dark,  and  he  knew  he  must 
hurry;  for  going  down  would  be  far  harder  and 
more  risky  than  climbing  up.  So  he  wasted  no 
time  in  cogitation,  but  slipped  the  gun  into  his 
pocket.  It  was  too  good  to  leave  it  behind  where 
it  would  get  rusted  by  night  dews.  He  could  find 
out  later  to  whom  it  belonged. 

He  paused  on  that  remote  pinnacle  and  looked 
at  the  deepening  glory  in  the  west,  and  thought  of 
Enid.  He  was  not  given  to  praying,  but  his 
thoughts  at  that  moment  were  not  very  much 
unlike  a  prayer — a  man's  prayer  addressed  to 
the  sort  of  Creator  who  made  both  men  and 
women. 

Then,  with  his  laurel  burden,  he  began  the 
descent. 


76  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

The  air  of  the  hills  had  suddenly  grown  cool 
and  almost  sharp.  Scents  and  sounds,  as  is  their 
way  in  mountain  atmosphere,  came  out  emphat- 
ically, fixing  themselves  poignantly  upon  the  per- 
ceptions. Until  that  moment,  it  seemed  to  Rad- 
nor, all  impressions  had  been  merged  into  one 
mystic  hlend ;  now  all  at  once  he  caught  odors  and 
echoes  rhat  he  had  not  noticed  in  the  equalizing 
light  of  day.  Does  night  really  raise  the  pitch, 
increase  the  vibration  of  all  things? 

He  was  walking  under  crowding,  stooping  trees, 
the  perfume  of  which,  wildwood-like  and  elo- 
quent, made  a  scent-music  in  his  ears.  Low  rus- 
tlings spoke  to  his  heart  as  actual  vision  might  have 
done.  The  senses,  by  being  raised  to  their  power, 
became  interchangeable  at  will.  The  whole  world 
was  awake,  and  living  so  keenly  that  his  own  blood 
pounded  in  response. 

And  at  that  moment  he  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  a  group  of  men  still  visible  in  the  twi- 
light, one  of  whom,  tall,  slim,  and  muscular,  came 
toward  him  with  an  upraised  hand. 

"Hold  on  a  moment,"  he  said,  and  the  voice 
sounded  vaguely  familiar,  though  Jack  could  not 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  77 

place  it.  "What  are  you  up  to  on  this  trail  to- 
night?" 

"What  the "  Jack  brought  up  short,  and  in- 
stinctively dug  his  hand  into  his  breeches  pocket. 

"We've  the  drop,"  spoke  up  one  of  the  men 
behind  the  leader.  "Don't  get  fresh." 

"We  shall  have  to  search  you,"  said  the  slim 
stranger,  advancing. 

"Like  hell  you  will!"  rejoined  Jack  hotly.  He 
had  released  his  hold  on  the  revolver  in  his  pocket; 
now  he  flung  aside  his  armful  of  laurel,  and  stood 
ready. 

The  slim  young  man  promptly  jumped  for  him. 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  said  Jack  with  devout 
fury,  and  grappled.  He  did  know  something  about 
wrestling,  but  so,  it  seemed,  did  his  assailant.  The 
men  stood  about  in  a  very  sportsmanlike  fashion, 
without  interfering,  and  after  a  stiff  little  scrim- 
mage, Radnor  succeeded  in  throwing  his  adver- 
sary. 

The  man,  stumbling  to  his  feet,  advanced  with 
an  outstretched  hand. 

"I've  an  idea,"  he  said,  "there  are  only  a  few 


fellows  that  know  that  particular  hold,  and — if 
someone  would  just  give  us  a  light " 

But  already  Jack  had  recognized  him.  It  was 
Judge  Denby's  son. 

"Ralph,  by  all  the  gods!" 

Jack  had  known  Ralph  Denby  since  early  Groton 
days;  they  had  been  at  Harvard  together,  though 
in  different  classes,  and  their  fathers  were  old 
friends.  Ralph  was  about  Radnor's  height,  but  a 
year  or  so  younger  and  slighter.  He  was,  as  he 
had  always  been,  a  trained  athlete,  and  Jack  re- 
marked ruefully,  "Hang  you,  you  haven't  forgot- 
ten that  old  fall  of  yours,  have  you?" 

Both  men  stood  back  and  laughed  at  each 
other,  though  both  were  breathing  heavily.  Then 
Jack  picked  up  his  flowers,  and  Ralph  turned  to 
his  troop  of  followers : 

"It's  all  right;  it's  a  mistake." 

The  others  laughed,  too,  and  then,  as  they  all 
swung  down  the  trail  together,  Ralph  Denby  said : 

"What  on  earth  brings  you  here,  anyway,  at  this 
hour?" 

"Mountain  laurel!"  answered  Radnor,  laughing 
again. 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  79 

He  was  amazed  at  the  effect  of  this  simple  state- 
ment. 

"Mountain  laurel!"  repeated  young  Denby,  and 
stopped  short  in  the  trail.  "See  here,  are 
you " 

Jack  interrupted  him  with  some  irritation. 

"Really  I  can't  see  why  you  should  make  such 
an  ass  of  yourself,  Denby!  I  came  up  here  to  get 
some  laurel  for  Enid " 

"On  the  level?" 

It  was  too  dark  by  now  to  be  sure,  but  Radnor 
felt  that  his  friend's  eyes  were  on  him  in  searching 
fashion.  In  the  twilight  he  flushed. 

"What  I  say  usually  is,"  he  rejoined  stiffly. 

Ralph  seemed  to  relax,  and  put  his  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"That  goes,  Jack!"  he  said,  in  a  different  tone. 
"You  see,  I'm  deputy  sheriff  for  the  night " 

"The  devil  you  are!" 

"Yes!  And  old  Heaton  has  put  me  on  the  job 
of  patrolling  some  of  these  trails.  There's  some- 
thing in  the  wind,  and  we  want  to  get  a  line  on  it 
before  they  get  started." 

"Just  who  are  'they'  ?" 


8o  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"These  mountain  chaps — the  fellows  who  go 
in  for  moonshining,  and  road-agenting,  and " 

"And  supplying  the  moving-picture  business 
with  material!"  said  Jack.  "I  know!  Don't 
believe  in  them  myself." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  don't,"  said  Denby.  "The 
governor  says  there's  a  lot  of  lawlessness  up 
here." 

"Well,  your  father  ought  to  know." 

"You  bet  he  ought,  and  you  bet  he  does!  As 
a  Judge,  he  can't  do  very  much  himself,  you  un- 
derstand, but  has  to  depend  on  Sheriff  Heaton, 
and  I,  if  you  please,  am  run  in  on  the  job !  I 
don't  know  exactly  what  they  think  is  on  for  to- 
night, but  orders  have  been  pretty  strict.  Where 
are  you  going,  by  the  bye?" 

"To  meet  Enid  at  the  Toll  Gate,"  returned 
Jack,  who  had  just  paused  at  the  crossing  of  the 
trails. 

Ralph  Denby  whistled  softly. 

"There's  a  den  of  thieves,  if  you  like!"  he  said. 
"At  least,  that's  the  reputation  of  Four  Trails.  A 
sort  of  rounding-up  place  for  all  the  mountain 
thugs  and  blacklegs.  Well — take  care  of  your- 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  81 

self,  and  good-night  to  you — you  and  your  moun- 
tain laurel!" 

"You've  left  me  some  nice-looking  specimens  of 
it!"  remarked  Radnor  resentfully.  "We  must 
have  walked  on  it,  up  there!" 

Even  in  the  dusk  it  was  obvious  that  the  flowers 
had  been  crushed,  as  well  as  wilted. 

"Sorry!"  said  Denby,  heartlessly.  "My  re- 
gards to  Miss  Forsythe.  All  right,  boys." 

He  went  off  with  his  men,  and  the  lot  of  them 
disappeared  in  the  dimness  of  the  overhanging, 
perfumed  trees. 

Within  thirty  feet,  Radnor  was  challenged 
again. 

"Hands  up !"  said  some  one. 

"Not  so  you'd  notice  it!"  exclaimed  Jack,  who 
was  beginning  to  feel  thoroughly  wrathful.  He 
pulled  the  recently  acquired  revolver  from  his 
pocket.  "I'm  armed,  so  you  can  come  on  and 
fire,  and  be  damned  to  you !"  Then,  as  no  one  ac- 
cepted the  invitation,  he  added:  "This  looks  to 
me  like  some  sort  of  joke,  and  a  confoundedly 
bad  one.  What  on  earth  do  you  want  me  for, 
anyway?" 


82  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

One  of  the  men,  only  a  shadow  in  the  darkness, 
came  forward. 

"Name  and  password,  please!" 

"Not  on  your  life!" 

There  was  a  sound  of  muttered  laughter  at 
this.  Whatever  else  they  were,  these  various  hold- 
up men  seemed  of  a  genial  disposition. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  was  the  next  question. 
It  was  pacifically  given,  but  Radnor  wanted  to 
retort  "None  of  your  business."  Instead,  how- 
ever, he  merely  said,  resignedly: 

"See  here,  my  affairs  appear  to  be  very  much 
more  interesting  to  you  than  to  me,  this  eve- 
ning. So  let's  save  time  by  having  the  full  particu- 
lars. My  name  is  John  Worth  Radnor,  of  New 
York — at  present,  of  Warm  Sulphur  Springs, 
and " 

"Cut  all  that." 

"With  pleasure !  I  am  at  this  moment  supposed 
to  be  taking  a  ride." 

The  laughter  was  unrestrained  this  time. 

"Where's  the  horse?"  some  one  demanded. 

"Hold  on  a  moment!  I'm  trying  to  tell  you. 
The  horse  is  at  Four  Trail  Crossing,  the  Toll 


For  the  first  time  Jack  saw  engraved  upon  it  the  initials  "M.  II." 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  83 

Gate,  where  I  am  going  as  soon  as  you  get  through 
asking  me  questions." 

"Four  Trail  Crossing!" 

The  exclamation  was  general  and  deep,  and 
there  was  no  laughter  in  it. 

"That's  different,"  said  the  man  who  had  spoken 
first. 

He  walked  up  to  Jack,  struck  a  match  and 
scrutinized  him  closely.  His  inspection  was  brief, 
but  Radnor  felt  as  though  he  had  never  been 
looked  over  so  thoroughly.  The  investigator  was 
a  small  man,  with  a  noticeably  brown  and  wrinkled 
face.  Now  as  he  frowned  in  a  puzzled  way,  his 
skin  seemed  to  form  in  a  hundred  creases,  and  he 
seemed  like  a  gnome. 

"May  I  have  a  look  at  that  gun  of  yours, 
stranger?"  he  said. 

"Certainly!"  replied  Radnor  with  exaggerated 
politeness. 

A  second  match  light  flung  the  out-held  revolver 
into  sharp  relief,  and  for  the  first  time  Jack  saw 
engraved  upon  it  the  initials  "M.  H." 

One  of  the  other  men,  phantom-like  among  the 
trees,  spoke  at  the  same  instant: 


84  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"What's  that  you're  carrying — beside  the  gun?" 

And  another  added  quickly. 

"Any  one  to  vouch  for  you  in  the  Valley?" 

"I  can  only  answer  one  question  at  a  time,"  said 
Jack,  who  was  becoming  more  at  ease  in  the  gen- 
eral madness  of  the  adventure.  "What  I  am 
carrying,  besides  the  revolver,  which  I  should  very 
much  like  to  have  back,  by  the  bye,  if  you  don't 
mind — ah,  thanks! — is  mountain  laurel.  Prob- 
ably the  best  known  man  in  the  Valley  will  answer 
for  me — Judge  Denby — and  see  that  you  answer, 
too,  if  necessary,"  he  added  significantly.  "Any- 
thing else  you  would  like  to  know,  gentlemen?" 

"Nothing  else  at  all,"  said  the  small  leader, 
thoughtfully.  "A  date  at  Four  Trail  Crossing, 
Martin  Hale's  gun,  mountain  laurel,  and — Judge 
Denby — "  he  paused  just  a  second — "are  good 
enough  for  us!" 

"Are  you  more  of  Heaton's  men?"  demanded 
Radnor. 

"Not  a  chance,"  returned  his  latest  challenger 
in  an  amused  tone.  "Don't  you  worry  a  mite, 
stranger;  we're  with  you!  Good-night  and  good 
luck!" 


MOUNTAIN  LAUREL  85 

They  melted  into  the  odorous  darkness,  as 
noiselessly  as  they  had  appeared,  and  Radnor  put 
his  hand  to  his  head,  wondering  whether  he  had 
dreamed  them  entirely. 

Four  Trail  Crossing — Martin  Hale — these 
things  seemed  natural  enough  in  combination. 
Mountain  laurel,  as  he  saw  clearly  enough  now, 
was  evidently  the  password  for  the  night.  But 
where  did  Judge  Denby  come  in?  What  was  his 
connection  with  this  mysterious  outlaw  company? 

With  his  head  very  full  of  conjectures  that  were 
but  the  baseless  fabric  of  dreams  after  all,  and 
irritated  him  by  their  absurdity  and  unreality,  he 
tramped  around  a  bend  and  came  in  sight  of  the 
Toll-gate  House. 

With  his  arms  filled  with  the  dawn-pink  blooms 
set  in  the  darkness  of  their  glossy  leaves — and  they 
were  still  lovely  in  spite  of  their  adventures ! — he 
went  along  the  little  rocky  trail  that  led  to  the 
Toll  Gate  at  Four  Trail  Crossing. 

And  against  a  beryl  sky  he  saw  Enid,  standing 
crisply  outlined  with  a  big,  splendidly  proportioned 
form  bending  before  her.  Martin  Hale  was  kiss- 
ing her  hands,  first  one  and  then  the  other. 


86  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

For  one  moment,  Jack  thought  of  hurling  him 
into  the  gorge  below;  then  of  hurling  his  trophies 
in  the  same  direction.  But  something  harder  in 
him  sent  him  into  the  Toll-gate  House;  just,  in 
fact,  as  Enid  entered  by  another  door. 

He  did  not  even  look  at  her,  but  walked  straight 
to  Polly  Mason. 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  in  that  gentle,  courteous 
way  that  was  so  new  to  her  and  so  seductive,  "that 
you  have  too  many  of  these  as  it  is,  and — they 
are  rather  tired-looking,  aren't  they?  But  they've 
had  quite  a  bit  of  a  trip.  You  see,  I  went  to  Gray 
Crag  this  afternoon,  and  found  these;  and  I 
thought  perhaps — wilted  as  they  are — that  you 
would  accept  these  few  extra  ones — just  as  a  very 
great  favor  to  a  stranger." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ENID  IS  LEFT  BEHIND 

Ladies,  like  variegated  Tulips,  show; 

'Tis  to  their  Changes  half  their  charms  we  owe.    .    .    . 

— ALEXANDER  POPE. 

'  A   RE   you    ready   to   go   home   now?"   Jack 
asked   formally,   turning   at  last   toward 
Enid. 

Her  small  face  was  colorless  and  her  golden 
eyes  were  flames.     A  thing  of  fire  she  seemed; 
she  almost  burned  him  with  the  look  of  her. 
•     "No,"  she  answered,  in  a  level  tone.    "I  do  not 
expect  to  be  ready  for  some  time." 

Jack  Radnor  stood  and  looked  at  her.  Polly 
and  her  father  had  moved  away,  and  were  talking 
together  in  low  tones. 

"I  quite  understand  your  willingness  to  stay  in 
this  charming  place,"  said  Jack,  with  fiendish 

87 


88  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

politeness — fiendish  because  neither  of  the  others 
was  listening,  and  he  knew  it.  "But — " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  blazing  look  even 
more  golden. 

"I've  noticed  that  you  find  it  charming!"  she 
snapped. 

Jack  raised  his  eyebrows,  smiling  slightly. 

"You  have  the  advantage  of  me  there,"  he  said. 
"I  personally  have  been  here  such  a  very  short 
time  that,  of  course,  I  am  no  real  judge." 

"One  can  judge  some  things  very  quickly!"  she 
flared  at  him,  detesting  herself  for  feeling  sick  and 
shaky  all  over  as  she  spoke. 

"Yes,"  Radnor  said  quietly.  "I  have  noticed 
that.  But  what  I  am  trying  to  get  at  at  present 
is  this:  why  should  you  spend  so  much  time  here 
now,  when  it  is  so  entirely  easy  to  come  back  when- 
ever you  like?" 

"I  can't  walk  all  the  way,"  she  remarked,  and 
turned  her  head  away. 

Jack  Radnor  was  frankly  bewildered. 

"But  your  horse — "  he  began. 

"Martin  Hale  has  him!"  she  said  sharply,  and 
fell  again  silent. 


ENID  IS  LEFT  BEHIND  89 

"Martin  Hale!" 

Jack  stared  at  the  back  of  her  yellow  head 
blankly,  then  he  said  in  rather  a  low,  restrained 
tone: 

"What  happened?" 

Silence. 

"Where  has  Martin  Hale  gone  with  your 
horse?"  he  went  on. 

"I  can't  tell  you." 

"You'll  have  to!" 

"I  won't!" 

Radnor  thought  rapidly.  If  Enid  had  indeed 
been  idiot  enough  to  lend  Hale  her  horse  for 
some  nefarious  and  secret  doings,  the  question 
resolved  itself  into  something  close  to  sim- 
plicity. 

"Then  you'll  have  to  go  back  on  my  mount, 
postilion-wise,"  he  said,  without  attempting  to 
argue. 

Enid  turned  upon  him  and  he  nearly  recoiled 
before  the  fury  in  her  eyes. 

"I  wouldn't  ride  postilion-wise  with  -you — to 
Heaven!"  she  declared;  and  there  was  no  doubt 
that  she  meant  it. 


90  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Mason  and  his  daughter  approached  at  this 
point. 

"If  you  want  to  go  back  to  Warm  Sulphur 
Springs,  you'll  have  to  go  alone!"  proceeded  Enid. 

Again  Jack  thought.  There  were  two  bands  of 
fairly  unceremonious  men  upon  the  range  that 
night.  He  himself  had  encountered  them.  Could 
he  take  the  chance  of  putting  Enid's  saddle  upon 
Champion,  and  trusting  her  alone  down  those  dark 
and  mysterious  ways? 

Unexpectedly,  the  old  Toll  Keeper  came  to  his 
rescue. 

"What's  the  trouble,  sir,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"The  lady  has  lost  her  horse,"  said  Jack,  too 
angry  to  be  diplomatic. 

"Lost  her — "  Richard  Mason's  expression 
was  so  astounded  that  Jack  exonerated  him  from 
any  complicity  in  whatever  was  on  foot.  It  made 
him,  strangely  enough,  the  more  enraged  against 
his  fiancee. 

"The  problem  is  simply  of  getting  her  to  the 
Valley,"  he  went  on. 

"There  isn't  any  way  by  which  I'll  go  to  the 
Valley!"  said  Enid,  with  her  eyes  flashing. 


ENID  IS  LEFT  BEHIND  91 

The  Masons  were  people  of  few  words,  and 
rapid  understandings. 

"Why  don't  you  leave  her  here  with  us,  sir?" 
he  said. 

And  Polly  came  quickly  to  Enid,  and  put  her 
arm  around  her  waist. 

Jack's  eyes  searched  the  older  man's  deeply. 

"It's  all  right,  sir,"  Mason  said,  with  a  smile 
that  would  have  reassured  any  one.  "We'll 
look  after  her,  Polly  and  I." 

Radnor  drew  a  deep  breath. 

After  all,  he  had  to  trust  them;  there  was  no 
other  way  that  he  could  see.  And  surely  Enid 
would  be  safe  here,  with  an  old  man  of  Mason's 
sterling  type,  and  a  girl  like  Polly. 

"All  right,"  he  said  briefly.  "Thanks.  I  won't 
be  long."  He  swung  about  and  looked  at  Enid. 

"I'm  going,"  he  said  casually. 

Enid  did  not  even  turn  around. 

"Good-night,"  she  said,  and  he  could  not  see  that 
her  face  was  working  inexplicably.  "I  suppose 
I'll  see  you  in  the  morning,  some  time?" 

Radnor  laughed,  not  particularly  pleasantly. 

"You'll  see  me  to-night,"  he  said.    "I'm  merely 


92  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

going  down  to  the  hotel  to  set  your  mother's  mind 
at  rest  and  to  get  you  another  horse.  It  ought  not 
to  take  me  more  than  two  or  three  hours.  You 
can't  get  rid  of  me  as  easily  as  all  that — not  to- 
night at  least.  To-morrow  you  may  do  just  what 
you  like.  But  I  am  going  to  get  you  a  horse  first 
— and  believe  me,  you  won't  be  able  to  give  this 
one  away  so  easily  as  you  did  the  other.'* 

He  turned  to  their  hosts,  shook  Mason's  hand 
hard,  and  bowed  low  over  Polly's.  In  another 
minute  he  had  gone. 

"Say,"  said  the  Toll  Keeper,  gazing  after  him 
in  a  way  that  was  almost  affectionate,  "I  could  love 
that  boy!" 

But  neither  Polly  nor  Enid  said  anything  at  all. 

The  door  closed  on  Jack,  and  no  one  spoke. 
A  sound  in  the  stable  sent  old  Mason  out  to  help. 
Still  no  words  in  the  Toll-gate  House.  The  two 
girls  stood  motionless,  without  facing  each  other, 
without  addressing  each  other. 

A  rattle  and  rush  of  hoofs,  a  shout  of  farewell 
from  the  Toll  Keeper;  then  came  his  boisterous 
entrance,  which  somehow  seemed  to  break  a  sort 
of  spell. 


ENID  IS  LEFT  BEHIND  93 

Jack  Radnor  was  galloping  down  the  trail  when 
Enid,  suddenly  transformed  into  a  young  fury, 
confronted  the  father  and  daughter  in  the  center 
of  the  room. 

For  the  time  being  she  appeared  to  have 
gone  mad,  and  to  have  completely  forgotten 
where  she  was  and  who  were  listening  to  what  she 
said. 

It  was  of  Jack  that  she  spoke;  savage,  eternally 
feminine  sentences,  panted,  gasped,  broken  by 
heaving  pauses  more  eloquent  than  any  of  the  most 
fluent  words.  And  now  and  again  tears  rained 
down  her  white  face — tears  that  instinctively  one 
knew  must  burn  and  sear  her  as  they  fell. 

"And  he  said  that  he  loved  me!"  she  breathed, 
first  very  low — and  then  her  voice  rose  to  a 
harsh  and  strident  key.  "Love  me!  And  he 
could  leave  me  like  this !  He  could  talk  as  though 
I  were  something  to  be  carried  about — a  copy  of 
a  woman,  just  as  he  is  a  copy  of  a  man!"  She 
turned  furiously  upon  Polly,  who,  being  of  frailer 
fiber,  in  spite  of  her  appearance,  shrank  toward 
her  father.  "He  gave  you  my  flowers!"  she 
gasped,  with  that  strange  yellow  blaze  in  her  eyes. 


94  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Mine,  do  you  hear?  That  /  wanted!  He  gave 
them  to  you!  He " 

The  mountain  girl  was  frankly  terrified,  but  the 
old  man  seemed  to  sense  some  emotion  that  was 
not  unfamiliar.  He  put  his  daughter  aside  with 
a  big,  gentle  hand,  and  went  up  to  the  half-crazed 
girl. 

"What's  it  all  about?"  he  asked,  in  the  soft, 
great,  rumbling  tones  that  bring  such  rest  to 
women.  "You  love  him,  and  you  think  that  he 
doesn't  love  you?  Is  that  it?" 

"Love  me!"  shrilled  Enid.  "He  doesn't  know 
how  to  love;  it  isn't  in  him.  He — oh, — "  She 
seemed  to  stretch  upward  like  a  thin  gleaming 
flame,  until  one  wondered  whether  she  were  not 
a  living  column  of  fire.  "I  hate  him!"  she  cried 
desperately.  "I  hate  him! — I  hate  him!" 

She  dropped  in  a  heap  on  the  floor. 

"Poor  little  kid!"  said  the  Toll  Keeper  gently, 
looking  down  at  her. 

"She  doesn't  appreciate  him !"  said  his  daughter 
hotly.  But  she  was  on  her  knees  beside  the  un- 
conscious girl,  and  was  loosening  her  high  white 
riding  stock,  even  as  she  spoke. 


ENID  IS  LEFT  BEHIND  95 

It  was  an  odd  paradox  that  the  very  faults  which 
Enid  found  with  Jack  recommended  him  the  more 
strongly  to  Polly.  The  mistake  which  Enid  had 
made  in  believing  him  a  bloodless  sort  of  autom- 
aton, was  in  time  to  bring  Polly  into  risks  which 
neither  of  them  were  likely  to  take  into  account, — 
for  the  time  being  at  all  events. 

Enid  moved,  breathed  deeply,  opened  her  great 
yellow  eyes,  and  stared  wonderingly  at  the  faces 
of  the  Toll  Keeper  and  his  daughter. 

At  this  moment,  a  rap  sounded  on  the  door, 
and  without  waiting  for  a  response,  a  large,  red- 
and-white-haired,  sloppy-looking  woman  of  the 
hills  entered.  She  was  dressed  in  a  sort  of  sordid 
and  squalid  finery  that  did  not  particularly  har- 
monize with  her  fat,  rather  vacant  yellowish  face 
and  supermature  figure. 

"Dear,  dear!  What's  wrong  here?"  she  ex- 
claimed in  a  kind  of  heavy  consternation,  lumber- 
ing forward. 

Polly  scowled  and  retreated.  She  detested  the 
Widow  Short,  their  nearest  neighbor.  She  was 
convinced  that  she  had  designs  on  her  father,  and 
she  knew  that  Mrs.  Short  was  one  of  the  most 


96  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

shiftless  of  female  mortals.  But  widows  and 
widowers  have  a  way  of  drifting  together  in  the 
high  ranges.  Polly  foresaw  but  dreaded  the  day 
when  Mrs.  Short,  and  her  slovenly  efforts  towards 
finery  and  her  lackadaisical  Southern  ways,  should 
enter  the  Toll-gate  House  as  its  mistress. 

Had  she  only  known  it,  she  need  not  have  wor- 
ried in  the  least;  but  she  was  not  subtle  enough 
to  recognize  that  her  father  was  more  amused  than 
anything  else  by  their  neighbor's  cumbrous  at- 
tempts at  personal  ornamentation, — always  of  the 
cheapest  and  most  unsuitable  sort.  Polly  thought 
it  horrid  of  him  to  so  ostentatiously  mention  the 
widow's  pea-green  hair-ribbons  and  pink  belt  in 
combination.  It  was  horrid  of  him,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  too,  though  not  in  any  sense  that 
Mrs.  Short  (or  Polly  either)  could  appreciate. 
Richard  Mason  was  one  of  those  rare,  delightful 
and  intrinsically  demoralizing  creatures  who  can 
enjoy  making  fun  of  others  without  giving  the  fact 
away. 

Mrs.  Short  and  Polly  helped  Enid  into  Polly's 
bedroom  and  onto  the  bed,  and,  as  though  utterly 
exhausted  by  her  abnormally  acute  emotions,  Enid 


ENID  IS  LEFT  BEHIND  97 

sank  back  upon  the  pillows  almost,  it  seemed,  life- 
less. 

"She's  real  pretty,  ain't  she?"  said  Mrs.  Short, 
gazing  down  at  the  clearly  cut  little  features. 
Polly's  eyes  were  dark  and  deep,  as,  after  a  mo- 
ment, she  answered: 

"Yes;  she  is." 

Her  father's  voice  called  her  to  the  other  room, 
and  Mason  said  to  her  in  a  low  voice: 

"Now  that  Mrs.  Short  is  here,  I  don't  mind  so 
much  leaving  you  two  girls  here  alone." 

"Alone!" 

"Yes!  I've  an  idea  that  Mart  has  gone  out  to 
help  out  this  mess  somehow,  and  I  don't  want 
to — "  he  hesitated. 

Polly  was  just  enough  like  him  to  laugh. 

"To  miss  anything?"  she  suggested. 

Mason  laughed,  too,  and  hugged  her.  "That's 
it!  I  won't  go  far,  but " 

"Dad,  dear,"  she  entreated,  "you  know  that 
you've  had  two  or  three  attacks  of  your  heart 
lately!  You  will  be  careful?" 

"You  bet  I  will!  I'm  not  going  to  get  mixed 
up  in  anything,  only, — I  cannot  just  stay  at  home 


98  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

like  a  rusty  gun!  Look  out  for  that  little  girl, 
Poll !  She's  worth  it,  if  I'm  not  mistaken." 

He  kissed  her,  took  his  rifle  from  the  wall,  and 
went  out  with  his  swinging  step.  Polly  followed 
him  anxiously  with  her  eyes.  His  heart  had  acted 
badly  of  late,  and  she  hated  to  see  him  go  out  into 
the  night  alone,  especially  when  times  were 
hazardous,  like  these.  She  made  a  move  as  though 
to  follow  him,  for — after  all, — she  adored  him 
more  than  anything  in  the  world;  but  Mrs.  Short's 
voice  stopped  her  from  the  door  of  the  bedroom. 

"She  wants  you,"  she  said,  almost  unctuously, 
the  tone  was  so  kind.  "The  sweet,  pretty  young 
things  wants  you!  I've  got  to  be  getting  home. 
*I've  loaves  in  the  oven,  and  Lord  knows  what  has 
happened  to  them  by  this  time!  Good-night, 
dearie!" 

Polly  politely  evaded  the  caress  that  accom- 
panied the  adieu;  she  felt  that  if  the  Widow  Short 
should  ever  by  chance  kiss  her  she  should  die. 

Mrs.  Short  departed,  and,  with  a  curious  sense 
of  dread  about  her  that  she  could  not  explain  to 
herself,  Polly  went  in  to  Enid. 

She  had  spent  many  lonely  hours  at  the  Toll 


ENID  IS  LEFT  BEHIND  99 

Gate  before  this,  but  never  before  had  she  known 
this  sense  of  isolation,  of — was  it,  could  it  be 
dread?  She  and  the  Valley  girl  were  alone  on 
the  mountain  top,  evil  things  were  abroad,  and  the 
old  wooden  clock  in  the  living-room  was  ticking 
out  the  hour  of  nine. 

;  Nine  is  not  a  late  hour  in  cities,  but  among  the 
peaks, — Polly  went  forward  to  the  bed  to  meet 
Enid's  worried  eyes  as  tranquilly  as  might  be. 

The  girl  on  the  bed  put  a  question  which  was 
curiously  disconcerting : 

"Is  everything  all  right?"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  HOLD-UP 

Rebellious  subjects,  enemies  to  peace, 
Profaners  of  this  neighbor-stained  steel,— 
Will  they  not  hear?    What,  ho!  you  men,  you  beasts, 
.     .    .     From  those  bloody  hands 

Throw  your  mistemper'd  weapons  to  the  ground.    .    .    . 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

"A  OWN  the  steep,  zig-zag  trail,  Jack  Radnor 
urged  Champion,  with  the  sighing  moun- 
tain winds,  chill  and  strange-savored,  in  his  face 
as  he  rode.  The  night  is  always  alive — more 
alive  than  by  day — but  this  night  seemed  to  the 
young  man  more  instinct  with  vitality,  potentiali- 
ties, sounds  and  suggestions  and  stirrings  that  he 
could  give  no  name  to,  than  any  that  he  had  yet 
experienced.  Two  or  three  times  he  could  have 
sworn  that  he  heard  stealthy  footsteps  on  the  trail 

IOO 


THE  HOLD-UP  101 

and  in  the  close-packed  shrubbery  on  either  side. 
More  than  once  some  echo  came  to  him  as  he 
halted  on  a  precipitous,  open  space  to  get  his  bear- 
ings, which  was  not  so  very  unlike  a  human  voice. 
But  he  knew  that  the  hills  are  deceptive,  and  that 
sounds  are  magnified,  diminished  and  transformed 
even  more  trickily  than  on  the  water.  Also,  he 
knew  that  he  was  in  a  highly  wrought  mood,  and 
had  too  much  sense  to  trust  his  own  senses!  If 
Liberty  Ridge  and  the  trail  that  led  down  from 
it  seemed  more  alive  and  more  busy  than  would 
be  normal  on  a  late  summer  evening,  he  was  con- 
tent to  put  it  down  to  his  own  imagination. 

But  one  or  two  things  happened  that  he  could 
not  attribute  to  fancy;  horsemen  passed  him  on 
the  trail,  in  evident  haste.  And  once,  at  least,  he 
heard  a  distant  sound  that  could  only  have  been 
a  shot.  The  sound  reminded  him  of  the  fact  that 
he  still  carried  Martin  Hale's  revolver  in  his 
pocket.  And  he  fell  to  conjecturing  what  business 
Martin  Hale  might  have  so  urgent  that  he  was 
obliged  to  borrow  Enid  Forsythe's  horse  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  it  through.  He  could  not  very 
well  help  trying  to  piece  together  all  the  little 


102  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

things,  trifling  in  themselves,  which  had  gone  to 
make  up  a  rather  puzzling  evening. 

And  then  conjecture  ceased  for  the  time,  and 
recognition  of  something  very  wrong  somewhere, 
took  its  place  in  his  mind. 

He  was  riding  along  a  part  of  the  trail  which 
slanted  along  the  mountainside  overlooking  the 
Valley.  The  trees  below  him  happened  to  be 
somewhat  scanty  just  there,  and  he  could  see  far 
down  the  gorge,  beyond  the  Warm  Sulphur 
Springs  colony,  beyond  the  railway  station,  beyond 
the  livery  stables,  the  switchback,  even  the  last 
stiffly  graded  turn  of  the  little  railway  line.  It 
was  well  after  nine,  he  knew,  and  the  evening  train 
from  Covington  was  long  overdue,  but  delays 
were  common  enough  up  there,  where  there  were 
no  other  trains  to  connect  with  on  schedule  time, 
and  where  even  a  slight  wash-out  might  put  the 
track  out  of  commission  for  quite  a  bit.  But 
there  was  the  train,  as  surely  as  he  was  sitting 
on  Champion's  back,  and  it  was  standing  still, 
and — he  had  descended  a  third  of  the  mountain- 
side, so  could  see  clearly  enough, — there  were  one 
or  two  inexplicable  flashes  along  its  length, — espe- 


THE  HOLD-UP  103 

daily  at  that  end  of  it  where  he  knew  must  be 
the  engine. 

Then  and  then  only  did  his  formless  suspicions 
and  intuitions  take  forcible  shape. 

"By  God,  that's  it!"  he  exclaimed  aloud. 
"They're  holding  up  the  train!" 

Champion  had  never  felt  spurs  from  this 
peculiar  rider  before,  but  he  felt  them  now,  and 
bounded  forward  with  a  startled  violence  that 
nearly  sent  them  both  down  into  the  gorge;  for 
the  trail  was  at  no  point  a  very  ample  one,  and 
notably  narrow  just  there.  Radnor  sat  as  far 
back  in  his  saddle  as  he  could,  gave  the  horse  his 
head,  and  told  him  to  "Go  like  hell!" 

Which  Champion  did.  He  had  been  a  real 
horse  in  his  day,  before  an  impoverished  English- 
man sold  him  to  the  Warm  Sulphur  Springs  livery 
concern  to  cover  a  big  bill.  Two  or  three  years 
of  bad  hack  riding  had  saddle-galled  him,  and  put 
him  a  little  out  of  condition,  but  Jack  Radnor  had 
been  riding  him  all  summer,  and  he  had  recovered 
nearly  all  his  old  spirit  and  efficiency.  He  could 
still  go  like  hell  when  occasion  demanded  it,  and 
when  the  man  whom  he  had  by  this  time  accepted 


104  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

as  his  master  gave  him  to  understand  that  speed 
was  what  was  wanted  of  him,  he  gathered  himself 
together  and  tore  down  the  steep  dark  trail  at  a 
breakneck  pace. 

"God  love  you,  old  fellow!"  praised  Jack  Rad- 
nor, leaning  well  back,  and  clinching  with  his 
knees  so  that  there  should  not  even  be  any  extra 
drag  on  the  stirrups,  "I  only  hope  and  pray  that 
you  don't  break  your  knees,  nor  get  let  down  for 
all  time!" 

Champion  was  sure-footed,  and  he  had  a  good 
horse's  pride  in  those  slack  reins  and  stirrups.  His 
god  trusted  to  his  making  it,  and  he  should  not 
trust  in  vain.  Most  of  the  way  it  was  too  dark 
to  see  the  path,  and  Radnor  wondered  just  when 
the  two  of  them  would  go  over  a  cliff  or  turn  a 
somersault.  Once  Champion  stumbled,  almost 
stopped,  and  Jack  felt  the  big  muscles  gathering 
under  his  leg-grip.  The  next  moment  Champion 
rose  clean  in  the  air,  jumped  not  one  but  three 
fallen  logs  across  the  trail,  recovered  himself  gal- 
lantly, and  stretched  himself  again  to  that  racking 
downgrade  gallop. 

Another  open  part  showed  the  train  again,  and 


THE  HOLD-UP  105 

now  it  was  lit  by  a  lurid  light  that  flickered  against 
the  dark. 

"The  damned  cowards!"  said  Radnor  through 
his  teeth,  "they're  scaring  the  passengers  out 
of  the  cars,  by  setting  the  train  on  fire.  Hurry, 
old  chap, — hurry!  Let's  have  all  that's  in 
you!" 

They  were  nearing  the  bottom  now,  and  there 
was  one  mad  chance  that  Radnor  could  take. 
Champion  had  done  all  and  more  than  any  horse 
could  do;  now,  he  gathered  up  the  reins  once 
more,  and,  to  his  mount's  bewilderment, — he  was 
getting  countless  surprises  to-night,  was  Cham- 
pion,— swung  him  off  the  trail  straight  down  the 
mountainside  to  the  road  that  led  through  the 
Valley. 

Champion,  in  his  day,  had  made  some  rough 
runs,  but  he  had  never  encountered  anything  like 
this.  It  is  nerve-breaking  for  a  horse  to  go  at 
full  speed  downhill;  but  when  to  that  is  added  the 
hazard  of  hillock  and  gulch,  fallen  tree,  and  clut- 
ter of  undergrowth,  sudden  dips  and  falls,  and 
sharp  rises  that  have  to  be  scrambled  over  some- 
how at  expense  to  temper,  patience  and  legs, — 


106  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

then  the  thing  becomes  torture  to  mount  and  man 
alike. 

Champion  fell  once,  and  though  he  was  not 
hurt  badly, — only  a  strained  muscle, — and  Radnor 
had  flung  clear  of  the  saddle  in  time,  he  was 
deeply  ashamed.  But  there  was  no  leisure  for 
stopping;  they  must  go  on, — on,  both  of  them, 
sliding  down  sandslopes,  splashing  through  unex- 
pected mountain  stfeams,  leaping  hummocks, 
breasting  stinging  thickets  of  trees,  until  they 
reached  open  level  ground,  and  under  the  stars 
the  Valley  was  about  them.  The  hills  they  had 
left  behind. 

They  were  almost  exactly  at  the  crossing  of  the 
two  broad  roadways,  one  leading  from  Warm 
Sulphur  Springs,  one  from  the  stables  and  stations 
and  so  on,  onto  what  was  generally  called  the 
Warm  Springs  Highway. 

A  horseman  galloped  at  full  speed  up  from  the 
lower  road  and,  passing  Jack,  threw  his  horse 
into  the  tangle  of  shrubbery  at  the  base  of  the 
mountain.  There  were  shots  in  the  near  distance, 
and  more  galloping  hoofs.  Then,  as  Radnor 
paused  to  consider  what  he  would  best  do,  a  little 


THE  HOLD-UP  107 

band  of  men  rode  past  him  at  racing  pace,  and 
fled  into  the  starlit  dark. 

A  man  on  foot,  and  hurrying  and  muttering  to 
himself,  came  stumbling  along. 

"For  God's  sake,  what's  happened?"  demanded 
Jack. 

"The  train !"  panted  the  other.  "They've  held 
it  up,  and  there's  a  lot  of  stuff  stolen!"  He  ran 
on,  with  uncertain  steps. 

Jack  wasted  no  more  time,  but  spurred  Cham- 
pion on,  and  took  the  triangle  of  darkened  grass 
between  the  two  roads  at  one  great  leap. 

"Now  for  it!"  he  said,  bending  his  head  close 
to  the  horse's,  after  a  curious  friendly  fashion 
all  his  own.  "If  there's  anything  doing  we  want 
to  be  there,  don't  we?" 

Bruised  and  stiff  as  he  was,  Champion  managed 
to  fling  up  his  head  with  a  sort  of  noble  defiance, 
and  raced  toward  the  stables.  He  knew  now 
where  he  was  going,  but  it  did  not  enlighten  him 
much.  All  that  he  thought  of,  dear  horse,  was 
that  it  was  needful  to  get  there  quickly. 

In  a  rush  of  forced  speed,  Jack  and  Champion 


io8  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

found  themselves  in  the  thick  of  another  rush  of 
action  that  demanded  instant  participation. 

A  struggling  mob,  lighted  now  and  again  by  the 
flashes  of  gunplay,  surrounded  the  forward  end 
of  the  train.  He  heard  men  cursing  and,  he 
thought,  a  woman  crying.  In  the  blaze  of  flame 
that  he  dashed  into,  the  first  face  he  recognized 
was  that  of  Ralph  Denby. 

They  knew  each  other  immediately  this  time, 
and  both  cried: 

"You!" 

"What  is  it,  anyway?"  demanded  Radnor.  He 
found  difficulty  in  holding  Champion  still.  In 
spite  of  his  hard  trip,  the  horse  felt  that  he  had 
found  himself,  and  having  gotten,  as  it  were,  his 
second  wind,  was  mad  to  be  off  and  doing  again. 

"The  blackguards  have  fired  the  train  and  got- 
ten away  with  God  knows  how  much !"  said  Ralph, 
bitterly.  "What  are  you  doing  here?  We  only 
just  arrived, — too  late,  of  course!" 

"I  saw  the  fire  from  the  mountain,"  said  Jack. 
"Hush,  boy,  hush!"  he  added  to  the  restless  and 
heroic  Champion.  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
they've  all  gotten  away?" 


THE  HOLD-UP  109 

"But,"  exclaimed  Ralph  mystified,  "I  thought 
you  were  with  Miss  Forsythe, — gotten  away,  by 
Gad!  Look  at  that!" 

He  wheeled  his  horse  and  was  off  after  a  flee- 
ing figure  like  lightning.  Jack  followed. 

Then  a  curious  thing  happened.  The  man  who 
was  riding  away  from  them  turned  in  his  saddle 
and  shot.  The  bullet  went  wide,  but  Denby  an- 
swered it  instantly,  and  Jack,  acting  on  an  instinct 
as  old  as  man,  pulled  Hale's  revolver  from  his 
pocket  and  fired  also.  The  escaping  horse 
stumbled  and  fell;  both  Radnor  and  Ralph  fired 
again,  as  they  saw  the  rider  leap  and  start  for  the 
woods.  The  man  stumbled,  evidently  hit,  but 
in  another  moment  had  made  his  get-away  among 
the  clumps  of  fir-trees,  so  hard  to  explore  in  that 
light. 

Ralph  suddenly  wheeled  his  horse,  and  said 
sharply : 

"Here,  Jack,  this  is  none  of  your  funeral !  Get 
back  there  and  look  after  Alice!" 

"Alice !    Is  Miss  Baker  in  that  pandemonium?" 

Ralph  half-groaned  and  said:  "Yes!  I  didn't 
even  know  she  was  on  the  train; — it  must  have 


no  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

been  a  sudden  plan  on  her  part  I  thought  she 
was  going  North  for  a  house  party.  But  she's 
back  there  right  enough, — I  saw  her.  I  can't  leave 
my  job,  so — you're  in  charge,  old  man!" 

"Right!"  returned  his  friend,  briefly,  and  turned 
his  horse's  head. 

He  knew  that  Denby  was  in  love  with  Alice 
Baker,  and  that  he  had  been  paid  a  full-fledged 
compliment  by  being  sent  to  look  out  for  her. 

Ralph,  with  a  curt  good-bye  called  over  his 
shoulder,  tore  off  up  the  road,  and  Jack  rode  back 
to  the  scene  of  confusion  below  the  switchback. 

The  fire  was  out,  and  traps  had  arrived  from 
the  Springs  stable  to  take  the  guests  up  to  the 
hotel.  But  there  was  still  lamentation  among  the 
women  and  profanity  among  the  men.  The  en- 
gine driver  was  trying  to  mop  up  the  blood  on  his 
face  with  a  greasy  black  cloth  and  cursing  with 
a  steady  fluency  and  an  imaginative  variety  which 
would  be  well  worth  listening  to  if  Jack  had  had 
the  time  to  stop. 

He  rode  past  him  and  the  little  groups  of  men, 
who,  gesticulating  furiously,  were  trying  to  explain 


THE  HOLD-UP  in 

to  each  other  just  what  ought  to  have  been  done 
and  wasn't. 

He  found  Alice  Baker,  a  tall,  dark  girl  dash- 
ingly dressed,  in  the  most  towering  rage  he  had 
ever  seen  a  woman. 

"Isn't  there  a  single  man  in  this  crowd?"  she 
exclaimed.  "It  doesn't  look  so! — Mr.  Radnor! 
I  didn't  see  you!  Isn't  it  outrageous?  They 
stood  around  and  let  the  women  be  robbed, — 
actually  stood  and  looked  on!" 

"Well,  my  dear  young  lady,"  deprecatingly  said 
a  sallow  little  millionaire  who  had  lost  about  six 
hundred  dollars  in  the  mix-up,  "they  were  point- 
ing guns  at  us,  you  know, — and  as  they  seemed  to 
be  in  a  highly  excited  condition,  I  feel  sure  that 
any  sudden  action  on  our  part  might  have  made 
some  of  those  guns  go  off!" 

"What  of  it?"  cried  Alice  Baker  so  vehemently 
that  her  hat  fell  off.  "I  should  think  you'd  rather 
have  been  killed  than " 

"But  we  wouldn't  have  been  a  bit  more  good 
to  you  dead  than  alive,"  said  the  little  millionaire, 
mildly. 

"Did  they  get  much  from  you,  Miss  Baker?" 


ii2  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

asked  Radnor,  picking  up  the  hat.  He  hoped  that 
putting  it  on  might  distract  her  mind,  but  it  seemed 
to  infuriate  her  the  more. 

"They  took  my  two  lovely  pearl  hatpins !"  she 
declared  tragically.  "And  twenty-five  dollars, 
and  my  dressing  case  with  a  lot  of  little  things, — 
that  little  emerald  brooch  Enid  gave  me  was 
among  them, — and — and  I  can't  even  keep  my  hat 
on!" 

Jack  burst  out  laughing,  and  after  staring  at 
him  in  cold  anger  for  half  a  minute,  she  broke 
down  and  laughed,  too. 

"It's  all  over  but  the  shouting,  anyway,  Miss 
Baker,"  he  said.  "Come  up  to  the  hotel  and  let's 
do  the  shouting  there." 

She  and  the  sallow  little  millionaire  got  into  a 
carriage  which  had  just  been  driven  up  and  Jack 
rode  beside  them  up  the  road  that  followed  the 
track. 

"This,"  said  Alice,  "is  what  I  get  for  coming 
to  see  my  dearest  friend  unexpectedly!  But  I'm 
glad  I  came  anyway.  I'm  crazy  to  see  Enid.  I 
suppose  she'll  have  heard  about  the  hold-up  and 
be  anxious." 


THE  HOLD-UP  113 

"Enid,"  said  Jack,  "is  at  the  present  moment 
about  ten  miles  from  here,  on  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  what's  she  doing  there?" 

"At  present,  waiting  for  me,"  he  returned,  half- 
laughing. 

"And  in  that  case,  what  are  you  doing  here?" 

"Holding  down  Ralph's  job!"  said  Jack,  low 
and  audaciously. 

"Ralph!"  he  heard  her  exclaim  under  her 
breath.  "Why  doesn't  he  hold  it  down  himself?" 
she  demanded,  with  spirit. 

"He's  chasing  bandits." 

She  sniffed  scornfully. 

"He'd  better,"  she  said.  "There's  a  garnet  and 
pearl  Harvard  stick-pin  he  gave  me  among  the 
loot!  But — is  he  in  any  danger,  Mr.  Radnor?" 

"Lots!"  rejoined  Jack  cheerfully.  "There, 
that  serves  you  right,  Miss  Baker,  for  losing  your 
temper!" 

"What  served  me  right?" 

"The  shock  you  got  when  I  said  'lots!' — Non- 
sense! Of  course,  it  was  a  shock:  I  heard  you 
gasp! — Here  we  are  at  the  hotel!" 


ii4  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

They  were,  in  fact,  drawing  up  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  the  great  white-pillared  veranda  of  which 
was  crowded  with  excited  guests  awaiting  the  ad- 
venture-scared travelers.  Bell  boys  ran  down  the 
broad  steps,  and  anxious  voices  called  down  in- 
coherent questions. 

Jack  dismounted,  helped  Alice  out,  and  followed 
her  as  she  ran  up  the  steps,  and  into  Mrs.  For- 
sythe's  embrace. 

"My  dear  girl !  I've  been  frightened  to  death. 
We  heard  the  shooting  and  they  telephoned  up 
from  the  station — but  you  must  be  dead! — Jack 
Radnor!  Thank  goodness!  I  thought  something 
awful  had  happened  to  you  and  Enid,  too.  Really, 
I  have  been  at  my  wits'  ends.  Why  didn't  she 
come  up  from  the  court  with  you?" 

Her  fair  face  grew  quite  pale.  "There's 
nothing  the  matter?"  she  asked  quickly. 

He  hastened  to  reassure  her,  and  to  explain  as 
well  as  he  could  in  a  few  words.  Then  he  went 
off  to  order  two  other  horses,  one  to  lead  bridled 
but  unsaddled.  Enid  would  use  no  saddle  but 
her  own,  and  that  was  in  the  Toll-gate  barn. 

As  he  turned  to  start  again  down  the  steps,  he 


THE  HOLD-UP  115 

met  Judge  Denby,  dignified,  handsome  and  kindly 
as  ever,  coming  up  them.  The  Judge  looked 
grave  and  troubled. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  said  to  Radnor.  'There 
appears  to  have  been  another  outbreak  among 
these  lawless  creatures  of  the  hills!  Was  there 
really  a  hold-up?" 

"There  certainly  was!  Ralph  is  out  with  the 
Sheriff's  posse  now.  Surely,  you  knew." 

The  Judge  nodded. 

"I  knew  that.  Heaton  told  me  there  had  been 
ransoms,  but  really,  this  is  quite  unexpected!  To 
hold  up  the  Millionaire's  Local!  Such  a  thing 
has  never  happened  before  in  my  experience !" 

"Well,  it  seems  to  have  been  easy  enough," 
said  Jack.  "The  wonder  is  no  one  ever  thought 
of  doing  it  before." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Judge  Denby,  seriously, 
"that  is  quite  true?  I  really  do  wonder  that  no 
one  ever  thought  of  doing  it  before!" 

Jack  started  to  pass  him,  paused,  opened  his 
lips  to  speak,  then  closed  them  again. 

"What  were  you  going  to  say?"  asked  the 
Judge,  eying  him  keenly. 


ii6  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Nothing,"  said  Jack,  shaking  his  head  and 
smiling.  "At  least,  nothing  now.  I'm  in  a  bit  of 
a  hurry!  See  you  later,  sir." 

He  ran  down  the  steps,  asking  himself  what 
had  stopped  him  from  demanding  why  the  out- 
laws of  the  mountains  had  shown  so  much  respect 
for  Judge  Denby's  name. 

The  horses  were  in  the  court  almost  as  soon  as 
he  was,  and  three  minutes  later  he  was  cantering 
along  the  Warm  Sulphur  Springs  highway,  to- 
ward the  lower  end  of  the  trail  that  led  up  to 
the  Toll-gate  House. 

As  he  turned  on  to  the  softer  soil  of  the  bridle 
path  and  slowed  up  for  the  ascent,  he  was  startled 
to  hear  a  sound,  unmistakable  and  inevitably  dis- 
turbing to  normal  human  hearing — the  moan  of 
some  one  in  great  distress  or  pain.  It  came  from 
the  ink-black  shrubbery  that  edged  the  trail  and 
in  the  darkness  seemed  a  veritable  cry  for  help. 
Jack  reined  up  sharply  and  listened. 


MIDNIGHT  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN  TOP 

And  we  will  talk,  until  thought's  melody 
Become  too  sweet  for  utterance,  and  it  die 
In  words,  to  live  again  in  looks,  which  dart 
With  thrilling  tone  into  the  voiceless  heart, 
Harmonizing  silence  without   a   sound. 

— PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 

~1T7"HEN  Enid  asked  her  if  everything  was  all 
right,  Polly  experienced  a  quick  sense  of 
comfort, — undoubted  comfort,  though  unaccount- 
able. The  alien  girl  of  the  valleys  had  somehow 
divined  the  element  of  uneasiness  that  tinged  the 
atmosphere  of  the  Toll-gate  House  that  night. 
Polly  knew  that  by  her  voice,  her  eyes,  by  a  certain 
steady  alertness  of  manner  that  suggested  a  pre- 
pared apprehension,  a  reasoning  appreciation  of 
possibilities  that,  however  foreign  to  her,  she  was 
still  able  to  recognize. 

117 


n8  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"All  right?"  she  repeated,  half-smiling,  in  a 
sort  of  oddly  relaxed  way.  "Why,  I  suppose  so! 
Only " 

She  laughed  outright  The  other  girl  had  be- 
come, if  only  for  the  moment,  a  comrade.  "One 
never  knows  just  what-all's  going  to  happen  up 
here!"  she  confessed.  "I  reckon  nothing  much'll 
turn  up,  only — there's  a  right-smart  lot  of  trouble 
doing  to-night  and  Four  Trails  is  a  mighty  handy 
place  to  stop  off  at!" 

She  laughed  again,  her  dark  eyes  frankly  appre- 
ciative of  the  danger  and  adventure  in  which  she 
habitually  lived,  moved  and  breathed.  Then  her 
tanned,  lovely  young  face  grew  sober. 

"Dad's  gone  off,"  she  said,  hesitatingly.  "He 
got  sort  of  upset,  wondering  how  things  were 
going,  and  seemed  like  he  had  to  go.  I — I  feel 
sort  of  worried  about  him.  His  heart's  queer, 
and  he  oughtn't  to  be  running  about  at  night, 
alone." 

There  was  real  trouble  in  her  voice.  Enid  re- 
sponded to  it  by  starting  up  with  vigor. 

"Why  on  earth  didn't  you  go  with  him?"  she 
demanded,  almost  indignantly. 


MIDNIGHT  ON  MOUNTAIN  TOP     119 

"Well — "  Polly  was  rather  at  a  loss  as  to  how 
to  put  it.  "You  were  here,  and " 

"Polly  Mason!"  exclaimed  the  other,  without 
ceremony.  "If  you  dare  to  say  that  you  let  your 
father  go  off  alone  on  my  account " 

"He  wouldn't  have  let  me  go  with  him  any- 
how," the  mountain  girl  put  in  hastily.  "He  hates 
being  watched,  and  babied,  and  that  sort  of  thing. 
But  if  I  could  have  kind  of  followed,  and — 
and " 

"Well,"  declared  Enid,  with  decision,  standing 
up  and  arranging  her  hair  with  firm  little 
hands,  "you're  going  to  go  off  and  'kind  of  follow' 
him  right  away,  do  you  hear?  And  I'll  go  with 
you." 

But  of  this  Polly  would  not  hear.  If  she  did  go, 
if  Enid  should  insist  on  her  going  (which  Enid 
accordingly  did)  she  should  go  alone.  Enid  would 
be  quite  safe  in  the  Toll-gate  House, — if  she 
weren't  afraid  just  of  'the  lonesomeness.'  Polly 
admitted  that  it  was  lonesome  there  at  night  some- 
times. But  Enid  stoutly  declared  that  she  wasn't 
the  least  bit  afraid.  She  would  sit  by  the  fire  in 
the  living  room  and  wait  for  Polly  to  come  home. 


izo  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"And  mind  you  bring  your  father  with  you 
when  you  do  come!"  she  commanded  her. 

So  Polly  set  out  in  the  windy  dark  and  Enid, 
after  watching  her  off  through  the  shadows  that 
seemed  to  crowd  threateningly  close  to  the  Toll- 
gate  House,  closed  the  door  upon  them  and  came 
back  to  the  fire  to  listen  to  the  old  wooden  clock 
ticking  off  the  hours,  and  to  think  a  vast  number 
of  brand-new  thoughts. 

And  so  engrossed  was  she  in  these  meditations 
of  hers  that  she  could  not  have  said  how  long  nor 
how  short  a  time  had  elapsed  before  she  heard  a 
step  outside  the  house,  and  a  hand  upon  the  latch. 

She  almost  screamed  in  swift  terror,  but  the 
moment  of  panic  was  short-lived  for  the  door 
swung  open  promptly  and  disclosed  to  her  the 
big  figure  of  Martin  Hale  framed  against  the 
night.  The  quiet  of  the  lamp-lit,  fire-lit  room 
which  had  made  her  feel  oddly  safe  a  minute  be- 
fore suddenly  became  only  a  stage  setting  to  throw 
out,  by  contrast,  the  almost  terribly  splendid  per- 
sonality of  the  man  who  had  come  so  unexpectedly 
to  encroach  upon  her  midnight  vigil. 

The  fate  of  the  Lady  of  Shalott  was  a  romantic 


MIDNIGHT  ON  MOUNTAIN  TOP     121 

one,  take  it  all  in  all.  She  could  not,  to  be  sure, 
taste  of  the  fullness  or  joy  of  life,  but  she  had 
two  great  blessings:  she  had  no  sense  of  humor, 
and  she  could  be  just  as  sentimental  as  she  liked. 
These  are  boons  denied  to  the  modern,  all-round 
girl. 

Enid  would  have  loved,  just  once  in  a  while,  to 
be  in  a  romantic  situation,  even  if  it  were  a 
tragically  romantic  one,  and,  best  of  all,  to  be  able 
to  give  her  mind  to  it  without  seeing  its  absurdity. 
But  so  far,  much  as  she  had  thirsted  for  passion- 
ate sentiment  a  perverse  imp  inside  her  mind  had 
ridiculed  every  possibility  as  it  had  come  up.  And 
anyway,  modern  life  is  against  that  sort  of  thing, 
whatever  your  personal  inclinations.  I  wonder  if 
the  Lady  of  Shalott  wasn't  happier  at  her  mirror 
and  spinning  wheel  than  Enid  was  in  playing  golf 
and  bridge,  riding,  wearing  pretty  clothes,  and 
generally  enjoying  the  comfortable  realities  of 
existence? 

At  all  events  when  she  confronted  Martin  Hale 
in  the  lonely  Toll-gate  House  with  the  winds 
whispering  outside  and  not  another  sound  save  the 
ticking  of  the  clock,  she  felt  as  though  Romance — 


122  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Adventure — the  Fairy  Tale  element — were  for  the 
first  time  beckoning  to  her.  Not  that  she  loved 
Jack  less,  nor  that  she  loved  Martin  more  either 
— but  she  was  young,  secretly  emotional  (which 
is  the  most  dangerous  way  to  be  emotional),  and, 
being  furious  with  Jack,  ripe  to  be  attracted  by 
another  man.  Or  perhaps  it  would  be  fairer 
to  say  attracted  by  the  possibilities  of  being  alone 
with  another  man.  She  did  not  mean  to  flirt  with 
Martin  Hale,  but  she  had  a  latent  wish  that  he 
would  try  to  make  love  to  her — in  a  very  respect- 
ful fashion,  of  course — or  at  least,  want  to,  and — 
show  it. 

In  short,  she  was  preparing  to  engage  in  the 
time-honored  game  called  'Playing  with  Fire.' 

He  came  forward  slowly,  looming  huge  in  the 
lamplight.  Heavens,  how  big  the  man  was,  and 
how  overpoweringly  good-looking ! 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  did  it." 

She  gave  an  exclamation  of  enthusiasm. 

"Gave  the  warning?" 

He  nodded. 

"Met  some  of  the  Sheriff's  men,  and  told  them. 
I  feel  rotten  about  it,  too — giving  the  boys  away!" 


MIDNIGHT  ON  MOUNTAIN  TOP     123 

"But  it  was  the  right  thing!"  she  urged. 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  the  right  thing,"  he  admitted, 
but  his  tanned  fair  face  held  still  a  lowering  look. 
"I  want  to  tell  old  Mason  about  it,"  he  said,  look- 
ing around. 

"He's  gone  out.    Miss  Mason,  too." 

"Polly  gone!"  His  expression  was  startled  and 
a  little  anxious.  "She  ain't  alone?" 

Then  Enid  did  a  horrid  thing.  She  knew  that 
if  Martin  Hale  thought  Polly  was  alone  he  would 
go  and  hunt  for  her,  so  after  a  second's  hesita- 
tion she  deliberately  gave  him  a  false  impression. 

"There  was  a  woman  here,"  she  said,  slowly, 
"a  queer-looking  woman,  funnily  dressed." 

"The  Widow  Short?"  His  face  relaxed  into 
a  smile.  "So  Polly  went  back  with  her,  eh?  I'll 
go  over  there  after  a  spell  and  fetch  her  back." 

He  threw  his  shabby  hat  on  the  table  and  came 
nearer  to  her.  Big  as  he  was,  and  untutored  in 
the  social  graces,  there  was  nothing  awkward 
about  him.  He  moved  with  natural  ease  and  dig- 
nity as  a  fine  animal  moves.  He  could  not  be 
clumsy  if  he  tried. 

J-Ie  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece  looking  down 


I24  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

at  Enid,  her  lovely  little  face  coral  pink  in  the 
firelight,  her  hair  burnished  gold. 

"Seems  sort  of  hard — you  being  here  all  alone," 
he  said,  his  big  voice  softened  unaccountably. 
"Long?" 

She  was  unused  to  the  brevity  of  hill-talk,  and 
repeated  "Long?" 

"Long  since  they  left  you-all  here  alone,"  he 
elucidated. 

"It  seemed  long,"  she  said  truthfully.  It  was 
inevitable  that  she  should  add  with  that  danger- 
ous candor  which  is  part  and  parcel  of  the  game 
of  "Playing  with  Fire" :  "I'm  so  thankful  that  you 
came!" 

In  Martin  Hale  was  the  soul  of  a  poet.  To 
him,  this  meeting  on  the  mountain  tops  with  a 
Fairy  Princess  such  as  Enid  was  like  a  dream 
hitherto  unrealized,  a  phantom  too  long  hushed  in 
fancy,  a  coming-true  of  exquisite  unrealities  which 
he  had  been  guarding  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 

He  loved  Polly  deeply  and  truly,  but  she  did  not 
spell  for  him  the  magic  of  existence,  the  glamour, 
the  idealism,  the  phantasmal  mirror  of  things 
which  seemed  tangled  in  the  bright  web  of  Enid's 


MIDNIGHT  ON  MOUNTAIN  TOP     125 

hair,  which  seemed  to  glow  mystically  upon  him 
from  her  gold-colored  eyes. 

"Must  seem  lonely  to  you — the  Ridge,"  he 
said,  in  a  commonplace  way. 

"Not  now!"  she  ventured  with  the  ghost  of  a 
smile,  then  grew  quickly  sober.  "Oh,  but  it  was 
lonely — at  first.  Until" — she  quite  forgot  any 
game  called  "Playing  with  Fire,"  and  therefore 
played  it  the  better — "until  I  began  to  feel  that 
— up — here — one  couldn't  be  lonely!" 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly.  He  didn't  under- 
stand her  words,  but  he  vaguely  understood  her 
feeling,  and  nodded  slightly,  waiting  for  her  to 
go  on. 

"You  see,"  she  proceeded  breathlessly,  "when 
one  is  down  in  the  Valley — there  are  so  many 
things  to  hear,  and  notice, — so  many  things  going 
on — that  one — one  gets  tongue-tied  and  lonely, 
just  as  we  were  saying.  Oh,  you  don't  under- 
stand!" 

"I  reckon  maybe  I  do,"  he  said,  slowly,  gazing 
at  her  vivid  face.  "Seems  like  you  can't  get  a 
full  breath  down  there,  doesn't  it?" 

"It's  more  than  that,"  Enid  said.     "It's—" 


126  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

she  had  a  sort  of  inspiration — "that  the  loneliest 
thing  in  this  world  is  never  to  have  any  time  with 
yourself." 

There  was  another  pause.  Pauses  were  com- 
ing more  frequently  now,  and  lasting  longer, — she 
realized  that,  with  an  unsteady  pulse  to  punctuate 
the  fact.  For  a  few  minutes  longer  they  spoke — 
and  stopped — and  spoke  again — phrases  which 
seemed  to  have  less  and  less  meaning  as  their 
eyes  grew  unconsciously  and  uncontrollably  more 
eloquent.  They  were  both,  for  the  time  being,  a 
little  mad. 

Fairy  Princess  and  Mountain  God,  they  stood 
for  a  moment  on  the  edge  of  that  mystical  and 
perilous  labyrinth  where  the  rainbow  beckons  and 
the  sirens  call.  Stood,  for  Enid  had  arisen,  al- 
most without  realizing  it,  and  faced  him  trembling 
slightly. 

The  winds  outside  had  risen  and  drowned  all 
other  sounds. 

"You  are — beautiful!"  said  Martin  Hale,  low 
and  unsteadily.  He  gazed  at  her  as  though  she 
were  a  divine  apparition,  and  yet  he  leaned  closer 
to  her  even  as  he  worshiped.  With  all  his  ideals 


MIDNIGHT  ON  MOUNTAIN  TOP     127 

and  dreams  he  was  a  man.  Closer  he  bent,  and 
she  could  not  move.  It  was  as  though  a  spell, 
inscrutable  and  ruthless,  were  laid  upon  them 
both.  Their  pulses  sang  and  there  was  a  ring  of 
fairy  fire  about  them.  .  .  . 

And  just  at  that  moment  the  door  was  flung 
open. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ON  THE  TRAIL 

And  over  rough  and  smooth  he  rode, 
Nor  yet  for  anything  abode, 
Till  dark  night  swallowing  up  the  day 
With  blindness  his  swift  course  must  stay. 

So,  leading  on  his  wearied  beast, 
Blindly  he  crept  from  tree  to  tree, 
Till  slowly  grew  that  light  to  be 
The  thing  he  looked  for,  and  he  found 
A  hut  on  a  cleared  space  of  ground.    .    .    . 

— WILLIAM  MORRIS. 

/TAO  go  back  a  trifle. 

Again  the  man  in  the  undergrowth  groaned, 
and  Jack  quickly  made  up  his  mind.  Alighting, 
he  made  his  way  into  the  darkness. 

Evidently  the  man  was  not  yet  very  far  gone, 
for  he  said,  though  hazily,  "Password?" 

Remembering  his  experience  of  the  earlier  part 
of  the  night,  and  having  no  idea  in  view  but  that 

128 


ON  THE  TRAIL  129 

of  succoring  the  man,  whoever  he  might  be,  Jack 
answered  pacifically: 

"Mountain  laurel." 

The  man  gave  another  groan  in  which  relief 
figured  largely.  "I  was  afraid  you  were  one  of 
Heaton's  men!"  he  muttered  faintly,  and  lost  con- 
sciousness. 

Jack  struck  a  match  and  saw  the  brown  wizened 
features  of  the  little  leader  who  had  challenged 
him  for  the  second  time  that  evening.  He  felt 
more  puzzled  than  ever,  but  anyway  the  im- 
mediate thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  the  wounded 
man  under  shelter.  He  felt  for  just  a  moment 
a  trifle  rueful,  as  he  realized  his  predicament: 
a  mountain  to  climb,  Enid  to  take  care  of, 
a  horse  to  lead,  a  wounded  man  to  rescue — it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  would  never  be  able  to 
get  to  the  end  of  the  problem  that  confronted 
him. 

Naturally,  his  first  impulse  was  to  take  the  man 
back  to  the  valley  to  be  looked  out  for;  Enid 
could  wait.  He  lifted  the  limp  body  and  prepared 
to  hoist  it  into  his  saddle.  He  could  ride  the  led 
horse,  even  though  it  was  barebacked. 


1 30  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Now,  then,"  he  said  soothingly,  "Dr.  Clay  will 
fix  you  up  in  no  time." 

The  effect  of  these  simple  and  encouraging 
words  was  electrical.  Weak  as  he  was,  the 
wounded  man  began  to  struggle,  crying  in  a  fierce, 
trembling  tone: 

"Damn  you!  You're  running  me  in:  that's 
what  you're  doing!  You're  not  playing  on  the 
square!" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  broke  in  Rad- 
nor, none  too  gently.  "I  don't  want  to  leave  you 
to  die  in  the  road,  but  I  swear  I  will  if  there's  any 
more  of  that  sort  of  talk.  If  I  take  you  to  Dr. 
Clay's,  there's  no  way  of  his  knowing  who  you 
are  and,  as  a  patient,  I  don't  think  he'd  give  you 
away  anyhow." 

But  the  man  only  mumbled:  "I'll  never  go! 
You  sha'n't  drag  me!  Damn  you,  let  me  alone!" 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  "you're  too  sick  a  man  at 
present  to  be  held  accountable  for  what  you  say, 
so  I  shall  let  you  off  an  apology  for  those  'damn 
you's'  and  a  few  other  little  innuendos.  If  you 
won't  go  to  Dr.  Clay's,  where  do  you  want  to 
go?" 


ON  THE  TRAIL  131 

"To  the  mountains — quick!  I've  a  shack  up 
there  that  I  use  sometimes.  I've  got  to  keep  clear 
of  the  valley  for  a  while.  Not  even  he  could 
save  me,  if  it  were  known.  I've  been  in  that  train 
mix-up." 

"He?    Who?" 

But  the  man  was  swaying  to  and  fro,  and  seemed 
unable  to  answer. 

"Look,  here,"  said  Jack,  speaking  as  though  to 
a  sick  and  unreasonable  child,  "you'll  never  be 
able  to  make  the  mountains.  You're  all  in  as  it  is." 

"Feel — left-hand  coat  pocket,"  gasped  the 
other. 

Jack  prepared  to  obey,  but  in  feeling  about  in 
the  darkness  accidentally  touched  the  right-hand 
pocket  first.  The  man  fairly  shrieked  at  him. 

"Left — I  said — left!  So  that  was  your  little 
game!  To  rob  me,  to  double-cross  me!" 

"You're  out  of  your  head,"  said  Jack,  half-dis- 
gusted, and  half-sorry  for  him.  "If  it's  your  gun 
that  you're  keeping  in  that  precious  right-hand 
pocket  of  yours,  you're  jolly  well  welcome  to  keep 
it.  I've  one  of  my  own.  Now,  then — left,  you 
said:  here  we  are! — Oh,  I  see!" 


132  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

He  pulled  out  a  pocket  flask,  unscrewed  the 
top  and  handed  it  to  his  captive — or  was  it 
patient? — who  proceeded  to  drink  deeply. 

"I've  always  heard  that  Virginians  never  stirred 
without  something  helpful  like  that  along,"  re- 
flected Jack  aloud,  "but  I  didn't  know  it  was  so. 
Came  in  handy  this  time,  anyhow.  Feeling  bet- 
ter?" 

The  man  nodded. 

"Have  a  drop  yourself,"  he  said,  in  slightly 
stronger  tones.  Radnor  had  an  idea  that  he  was 
ashamed  of  the  way  he  had  spoken  the  minute 
before. 

"No,  thanks — hold  on,  I  believe  I  will!"  A 
sudden  idea  had  occurred  to  him,  confirmed  by 
the  swallow  he  took  of  the  contents  of  the  flask. 
It  had  quite  a  definite  taste  of  its  own  entirely 
new  to  Jack. 

"That's  not  whiskey!" 

"Not  on  your  life !"  said  the  other.  "It's  the 
real  thing.  Genuine  white  liquor — the  best  made 
on  the  range." 

He  spoke  proudly. 

So  they  were  not  just  yarns,  these  tales  Jack  had 


ON  THE  TRAIL  133 

heard  of  the  uncivilized  Southern  hills!  People 
really  did  hold  up  trains,  and  there  was  still  a 
moonshining  business,  government  reports  not- 
withstanding. 

Jack  laughed  almost  incredulously.  The  thing 
was  impossible;  but  the  thing  was  so,  so  why 
waste  time  to  disbelieve  it?  Meanwhile,  since  this 
wounded  maniac  wanted  to  go  to  his  "shack,"  he 
supposed  it  was  up  to  him  to  take  him.  The 
"white  liquor"  had  given  the  man  a  bit  of  strength 
and  he  was  able  to  mount  Jack's  horse  without 
much  assistance.  He  groaned,  as  he  settled  him- 
self, but  was  fit  enough  now  to  watch  with  curiosity 
and  some  admiration  Radnor's  mounting  of  the 
saddleless  horse — a  somewhat  effective  perform- 
ance even  in  that  dim  light.  "You've  a  good 
seat,"  he  remarked,  when  Radnor  was  up. 

"I'll  need  it  on  these  trails  with  no  stirrups  I" 
was  the  rather  grim  response.  "Anything  I  can 
do  to  make  you  more  comfortable?" 

"No— thanks." 

Jack  smiled  in  the  dark  at  the  second  word, 
clearly  an  afterthought,  and  said:  "You'd  better 
go  first,  so  you  can  lead  the  way  to  your  place." 


i34  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

The  two  rode  upward  through  the  damp,  still 
darkness,  and  neither  spoke  a  word. 

It  seemed  to  have  been  a  ride  ages  long  when 
Jack  broke  the  silence  between  them  by  asking : 

"Where  is  this  place — this  shack  of  yours,  or 
whatsoever  you  call  it,  anyway?" 

The  man  riding  up  the  trail  ahead  of  him  mur- 
mured something  unintelligible;  then  as  Jack  re- 
peated his  question  more  sharply,  he  said: 

"It's  just  a  piece  beyond — Four  Trail  Cross- 
ing." 

"We're  almost  there  then,"  said  Radnor,  who 
could  already  smell  the  untainted  winds  of  the 
upper  ranges.  It  was  strange,  the  way  the  air  be- 
gan to  move  and  surge  like  a  waking  spirit  as 
they  climbed  up  above  the  slow  and  stagnant 
valley  currents. 

The  next  moment  the  men  started  and  their 
horses  with  them.  For  somewhere  and  not  too 
far  away  could  be  heard  the  sounds  of  shots. 

"By  the  Lord!"  gasped  the  man  ahead. 
"They're  at  it!  And  me  knocked  out  like  this!" 

Tp   himself   Jack   said   exultingly:      "I   knew 


ON  THE  TRAIL  135 

Ralph  would  never  let  the  lot  of  them  get  away 
like  that." 

But  now  he  was  first  and  foremost  anxious  to 
get  his  wounded  companion  to  a  place  of  safety, 
and  then  to  be  in  the  thick  of  whatever  trouble 
there  was.  And  he  had  a  pretty  shrewd  guess 
that  whatever  it  turned  out  to  be  his  friend  would 
be  moderately  sure  to  be  in  it. 

"See  here!"  he  exclaimed  hurriedly,  "I— I'll 
have  to  leave  you  somewhere,  and  go  on  a  bit  to 
see  what  can  be  done.  Would  you  mind  being 
left  at  the  Toll  Gate?" 

"Toll  Gate's  all  right,"  said  the  other,  but  more 
feebly.  The  sudden  burst  of  excitement  at  the 
crowd  and  the  shots  seemed  to  have  left  him 
weaker  than  ever.  Jack's  heart  jumped  with  re- 
lief. Here  was  a  partial  solution  to  several 
problems  at  any  rate.  He  would  leave  the  man 
at  Four  Trail  Crossing,  reassure  Enid,  leave  the 
led  horse  in  the  Toll-gate  stable,  and  with  the 
mount  the  wounded  leader  was  now  riding,  go  to 
the  assistance  of  Ralph  and  his  friends. 

A  few  moments  more  saw  the  two  horses  climb- 
ing onto  the  level  plateau  where  stood  the  Toll 


136  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Gate.  The  shots  still  sounded  at  intervals  in  the 
distance. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it,  Radnor 
had  slipped  from  his  horse,  raced  to  the  Toll-gate 
House,  and  flung  open  the  door — confronting 
Enid  and  Martin  Hale,  alone  together  and  ob- 
viously not  expecting  to  see  any  one. 

For  a  moment  Jack  Radnor  was  vaguely 
stunned.  Astonishment  that  neither  old  Mason 
nor  his  daughter  was  there  dwarfed  all  other 
feelings.  But  Enid's  scarlet  flush  and  Hale's 
stiffening  of  muscles  as  he  faced  him  changed  his 
first  plain  surprise  into  something  sharper  and 
more  bitter. 

He  hardly  recognized  his  own  voice  as  he  came 
forward  and  spoke. 

"Miss  Mason  and  her  father  are  not  here?" 

"No,"  she  said,  also  in  an  unnatural  tone.  "I 
have  been  quite  alone — until  Mr.  Hale  came." 

"I  hope  that  you  were  not  alone  long,"  said 
Jack,  icily,  "and  I  am  glad  you  have  been,  since, 
so  well  protected!" 

Hale's  flush  was  dusky  through  his  tan.  He 
said  nothing,  however.  Both  he  and  Enid  stood 


ON  THE  TRAIL  137 

still  as  though  they  were  too  paralyzed  to  move. 
In  both  of  them  was  the  stark,  flat  sense  of  reac- 
tion. The  siren's  song  had  gone,  the  glamour 
had  faded.  They  felt  bitterly  annoyed  with  them- 
selves and  each  other,  as  Jack  Radnor  looked  them 
both  over  for  a  moment  or  two  more. 

Then  he  said  to  Enid,  in  a  voice  void  of  expres- 
sion :  "I  have  a  wounded  man  outside.  You  will 
have  to  look  out  for  him  a  bit." 

She  gave  an  exclamation  of  concern,  and  Hale, 
without  being  asked,  went  outside  to  help  lift  the 
man  from  his  saddle. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  wounded  man  was  com- 
fortable on  a  rough  couch  in  the  living-room,  and 
Radnor  faced  Hale  coldly  across  him. 

"I  imagine  Miss  Forsythe  can  get  along 
now,"  he  said  significantly,  "without — either  of 
us." 

Hale,  with  a  shrug  of  his  great  shoulders, 
moved  toward  the  door.  He  and  Enid  had  not 
looked  at  each  other  since  Jack's  unexpected  en- 
trance. The  big  mountaineer  was  conscious  of  a 
shudder  through  his  whole  being  as  he  remem- 


138  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

bered  the  way  he  had  felt.  The  thing  was  past, 
but  it  had  left  its  mark. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  Jack,  pausing  as  he 
turned  to  follow  him,  "it's  rather  an  upset 
night,  you  know — and — though  I  don't  think  it's 
even  possible,  we'll  provide  against  the  odd 
chance." 

He  took  the  wounded  man's  revolver  from  his 
pocket  and  gave  it  to  Enid. 

"Careful,"  he  reminded  her.  "It's  loaded.  I 
don't  imagine  you're  the  sort  likely  to  lose  your 
head,  but  take  care.  I'll  feel  better  if  you  have  it." 

Something  in  his  words  hurt  Enid, — the  im- 
plication that  being  "not  the  sort  likely  to  lose  your 
head,"  she  was  in  a  way  thrust  outside  the  pale 
of  ordinary  emotional,  impulsive  feminine  hu- 
manity. 

"I  will  take  care,"  she  said  coldly. 

And  Radnor  and  Hale  left  the  room  together, 
neither  of  them  looking  at  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DANGEROUS  BLOOMS 

.    .    To  burst  all  links  of  habit  —  there  to  wander  far  away, 

There  raethinks  would  be  enjoyment  more  than  in  this  march  of 

mind, 
In  the  steamship,   in   the   railway,   in  the   thoughts  that   shake 

mankind. 
There   the   passions   cramp'd   no   longer   shall   have   scope   and 

breathing-space  ; 
I  will  take  some  savage  woman.    ... 

—  ALFRED  TENNYSOW. 


outside  the  door  the  two  men  did  not 
waste  time  over  personalities.  Whatever 
Radnor's  individual  prejudices  or  grievances 
against  Hale  or  his  behavior,  he  had  a  man's 
ability  to  merge  them  in  more  immediate  and, 
generally  speaking,  more  important  issues. 

"See  here,  Hale,"  he  said  quickly,  "what  side 
139 


HO  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

are  you  on?  Man  to  man,  mind,  and  no  dodging! 
I  want  to  know  whether  you  are  with  the  law  or 
against  it!" 

The  light  from  the  Toll  Gate  windows  shone 
upon  them,  and  each  could  see  the  other's  face 
clearly. 

Martin  Hale  hesitated,  then  he  flung  back  his 
head  and  said  roughly: 

"You  go  your  way,  Radnor,  and  I'll  go  mine." 

Jack  Radnor  felt  himself  get  hot  from  the 
crown  of  his  head  to  the  soles  of  his  feet.  He 
wanted  to  kill  the  man,  to  wreck  him  with  a 
tempest  of  primitive  fury.  But  these  receding  gun 
echoes !  He  had  to  get  to  Ralph's  help. 

"Go  ahead,  then,"  he  said  quickly.  "It's  none  of 
my  business.  Wait  a  minute — you'll  want  your 
revolver." 

He  felt  in  his  pocket,  but — the  revolver  was 
gone. 

"I've  lost  it!"  he  exclaimed,  blankly. 

"There'll  be  plenty  in  the  house,"  said  Hale. 
"I'll  go  back  and  get  one." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  once  more  into 
the  room  that  held  Enid  Forsythe.  Jack  laughed 


DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  141 

briefly,  mounted  and  set  his  horse  at  a  quick  gal- 
lop along  the  top-range  trail.  If  Enid  were  the 
sort  of  girl  to  have  a  flirtation  with  a  moun- 
taineer, and  if  that  mountaineer  were  practically 
a  self-confessed  member  of  a  lawless  people — 
then  his  concern  with  the  affair  was  of  the  most 
nominal  and  formal  sort  Help  Denby  he  would; 
bring  Enid  home  safely  he  would;  but — he  tried 
to  tell  himself  that  beyond  these  obligations  he 
took  no  interest. 

However,  his  heart  ached,  for  he  loved  Enid 
better  than  all  the  round  world. 

A  bough  wet  with  night  dews  brushed  his  face. 
He  pressed  on  in  a  sort  of  grim  violence,  born 
of  his  own  hurt  mood  almost  as  much  as  of  his 
fear  for  Ralph  Denby  and  his  men. 

A  woman's  cry  came  to  him.  It  rang  so  unex- 
pectedly through  the  night  that  he  was  nearly 
unseated.  And  the  cry  was  close  at  hand.  As  he 
reined  up  hastily,  the  shots  he  was  in  quest  of 
were  for  the  time  being  silenced. 

The  cry  came  again,  more  appealing  and  at  the 
same  time  more  explanatory: 

"Oh,  please — won't  some  one  help?" 


142  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

With  a  sharp  ejaculation,  Jack  swung  himself 
to  the  ground. 

"Where  are  you?"  he  asked  quickly.  "Who  is 
it?  What  is  wrong?" 

He  nearly  stumbled  over  something  soft  and 
restless,  something  struggling  and  tossing  on  the 
ground.  As  he  knelt  beside  her,  she  fairly  flung 
herself  into  his  arms  sobbing. 

"Oh,  it's  Mr.  Radnor;  then  it's  all  right  1 
You'll  take  care  of  me,  won't  you?" 

"But  who — "  he  began  helplessly. 

"Oh,  don't  you  know?  It's  Polly  Mason.  And 
I've  twisted  my  ankle !" 

At  first  Jack  mentally  consigned  her  to  the 
nethermost  depths  of  Gehenna.  Then  something 
in  the  clinging  touch  of  her  melted  him.  He  was 
sincerely  sorry  for  her  predicament,  and  she  was 
unusually  attractive. 

Brokenly  she  explained  the  situation.  She  told 
him  about  her  father's  departure,  secure  in  the 
belief  that  the  Widow  Short  would  stay  with  the 
two  girls  at  the  Toll  Gate;  her  own  anxiety,  at 
the  sound  of  shots;  her  vain  search  for  her  father 


DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  143 

and  finally  the  luckless  fall  which  had  landed  her 
helpless  by  the  wayside. 

"But,"  said  Jack,  still  holding  her  as  she  leaned 
against  his  shoulder,  crying  with  worrying  pain, 
"isn't  there  some  place — this  Short  woman's — or 
some  one's — where  I  could  take  you  to  rest,  for 
a  bit?  You  see — "  He  hesitated.  "I'm  afraid 
that  there  may  be  a  lot  that  I  ought  to  do 
and " 

She  gave  a  low  cry  and  clutched  him  more 
closely. 

"No — no,"  she  paused.  "You  won't  leave  me? 
I've  been  so  frightened,  all  alone  I  And  my  foot 
hurts  so!" 

There  was  no  doubt  as  to  the  girl's  sincerity, 
and  Radnor  felt  at  his  wits'  ends.  The  sudden 
quiet  which  had  descended  upon  the  shooting  had 
somewhat  relieved  his  mind  of  an  instinctive  sense 
of  urgent  responsibility! 

"Let's  try  getting  you  on  my  horse,  Miss 
Mason " 

She  interrupted  him  with  agonized  appeal. 

"Please  —  please  —  couldn't  you  take  me  to 
Malone's  shack?  That  is  nearest.  It's  only  a 


144  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

piece  down  the  mountain — only  you  have  to  go 
cross-trail  to  get  to  it." 

Jack  wanted  to  say  that  he  had  been  going 
cross-trail  all  the  evening,  but  refrained. 

The  sharp  memory  of  Enid  flushing  scarlet — 
of  Hale,  the  mountaineer,  straightening  to  meet 
him — stung  Jack  Radnor.  Men  are  human  after 
all.  He  lifted  Polly  gently  in  his  arms,  and  lead- 
ing his  horse  at  the  same  time  carried  her  care- 
fully along  the  trail. 

Following  the  girl's  directions,  he  found  that 
Malone's  shack  was  a  bit  down  hill  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  main  trail;  and  even  in  coming  to  it 
Radnor  remembered  the  goal  his  wounded  friend 
had  wanted  to  make  for.  Also  he  remembered 
the  heavy  flask  with  the  engraved  silver  letter 
upon  it,  that  might  have  been  "M." 

"What  sort  of  a  chap  does  this  Malone  look 
like?"  he  asked  Polly. 

"Oh,  he's  little  and  dark — dreadfully  ugly!  I 
hate  him!"  He  felt  her  shudder,  and  had  a 
shrewd  idea  that  her  hatred  was  based  on  some- 
thing more  tangible  and  at  the  same  time  more 
significant  than  mere  antipathy. 


DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  145 

Jack  wondered.  It  was  his  man,  then.  Queer 
sort  of  a  fellow,  with  his  silver  flask,  and  his 
moonshining,  and  his  apparent  respect  for  the  law 
in  the  person  of  Judge  Denby. 

They  reached  the  shack  in  a  moment  or  two, 
and,  after  depositing  Polly  on  the  floor,  Jack  lit  a 
match  and  surveyed  the  place. 

It  was  very  bare,  and  there  were  no  signs  of 
being  constantly  occupied.  He  remembered  that 
the  man  had  said  he  "used  it  sometimes."  Then 
he  was  a  Valley  man,  and  this  was  only  an  occa- 
sional retreat — a  hiding  place,  possibly. 

Radnor  took  off  his  coat,  and  made  Polly  as  com- 
fortable upon  it  as  he  could,  then  produced  more 
matches  and  set  about  getting  some  illumination 
and  a  little  warmth.  For  it  was  chilly  here  with 
that  thrilling  cold  of  the  hills  that  at  night  can 
strike  through  you  even  were  it  summer. 

And  Polly  cuddled  into  his  coat  and  watched 
him  with  softly  brilliant  eyes. 

There  are  many  types  of  men  in  the  world,  at- 
tracted by  many  types  of  women,  but  there  seem 
qualities  very  nearly  usual  in  the  decent  male :  the 
little  boy  spirit  that  adores  being  mothered 


i46  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

and  spoiled,  and  falls  in  love  with  almost  any 
sympathetic  woman  who  does  it  well;  and  the 
protective  instinct  which  makes  them  absurdly 
charming  and  tender  to  helpless  things — to  chil- 
dren, and  small  animals,  and  especially  to  women 
who  need  this  care  and  lean  upon  this  strength. 

That  this  is  rooted  really  in  masculine  vanity 
is  a  truism,  but  only  partly  true,  like  most 
truisms.  It  has  something  much  sweeter  and 
nobler  than  that  in  it,  and  even  egotism  turned 
to  such  good  use  becomes  a  fine  thing.  There  is 
nothing  prettier  and  more  touching  to  watch  than 
the  gentleness  of  a  big  man  with  a  fragile  little 
woman  or  a  baby. 

So  it  was  that  Jack  Radnor  treated  Polly  with 
the  hurt  ankle  as  she  had  never  been  treated  be- 
fore, with  a  consideration,  and  a  kindness,  and 
half-teasing,  half-bullying,  wholly  tender  protec- 
tiveness  that  made  her  ready  to  kneel  down  and 
worship  him. 

It  was  only  after  he  had  kindled  a  fire  on  the 
hearth,  lighted  a  guttering  candle  which  he  found 
on  the  shelf  of  the  shack,  and  after  softly  ex- 
amining the  foot,  found  that  there  was  nothing 


DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  147 

wrong  with  it  other  than  a  painful  wrench,  that 
he  really  remembered  that  Polly  was  not  only 
a  weak  and  suffering  creature  to  be  cared  for  but 
a  very  lovely  woman  as  well, — one  to  defend  him- 
self against  at  that.  He  had  never  been  uncon- 
scious of  the  fact,  as  has  been  intimated,  but  the 
realization  had  been  kept  in  abeyance  by  her  help- 
lessness. Now  in  the  rosy  glow  of  the  leaping  fire, 
she  looked  a  little  less  helpless;  even — for  Radnor 
was  not  new  to  the  game  and  could  analyze,  even 
admit,  facts  when  he  met  them — a  little  dangerous. 

There  are  flowers  that  one  longs  to  touch  and 
to  breathe  the  fragrance  of.  Polly  was  like  one 
of  those  flowers.  Not  essentially  more  material 
than  other  girls,  in  fact,  in  most  essentials,  less 
so,  she  still  exhaled  a  lure  that  drove  men  dis- 
tracted in  spite  of  themselves.  It  was  not  a 
wicked  lure,  for  she  was  not  a  siren  by  avocation, 
but  it  was  the  sort  of  enchantment  that  sings  to 
you  from  the  heart  of  a  lovely  rose,  when  dusk 
falls  and  the  hour  gives  to  it  all  its  destined 
sweetness  and  wonder. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  Polly  to  make  him  out 
a  sort  of  emasculated  figurehead  of  romantic 


148  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

manhood;  he  wasn't,  and  there  was  an  end  to  that. 
No  woman,  much  less  one  so  innocently  pro- 
vocative as  Polly  Mason,  could  move  about  with 
those  naive  caressing  touches,  those  eager  linger- 
ings  of  eyes  and  smiles,  without  laying  a  spark 
under  a  manhood  which  was  anything  but  emas- 
culated. Radnor  was  in  no  sense  a  Don  Juan, 
and  a  young  girl  under  any  ordinary  circumstances 
could  have  traveled  around  the  world  with  him 
without  having  her  ideals  even  faintly  besmattered 
by  the  mud  of  misunderstanding.  But  the  con- 
ditions were  peculiar. 

First  of  all,  one  must  take  into  consideration 
what  one  never  does  take  into  consideration:  his 
present  attitude  of  mind, — or  mood,  if  that 
elastic  phrase  happens  to  please  you  best.  Young 
men  and  women  are  not  supposed  to  be  swayed  by 
emotions,  but  it  happens  that  they  are.  And  the 
emotions  are  violent  and  complicated  according 
to  the  situations  in  which  they  are  fostered.  Jack 
and  Polly  were  both  in  love, — he  with  Enid,  and 
she  with  Martin, — but  that,  terrible  as  it  may 
seem  to  the  Victorian  understanding,  did  not  pre- 
vent them  from  being  still  human. 


DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  149 

In  Polly's  brain,  inherently  literal  in  spite  of  an 
extraordinary  coloring  of  sentiment,  was  a  sort 
of  boundary  line  between  Gentlemen  and  Men. 
This  is  a  peculiarly  unlucky  type  of  hallucination, 
because  the  two  sorts,  practically  speaking,  can- 
not exist  independently.  A  real  man  must  have 
something  of  the  gentleman  in  him  before  he  can 
pass  muster  among  his  kind;  and  may  God  de- 
fend us  from  the  "gentleman"  who  is  not  first  of 
all  a  man. 

However,  this  is  beside  the  question. 

Polly  stood  in  the  position  of  a  traveler  in  a 
strange  land  in  which  she  is  assured  she  will  have 
full  legal  and  actual  protection,  whatever  she  does. 
Hence,  she  took  liberties  with  Jack  Radnor  which 
she  would  never  have  dreamed  of  taking  with 
one  of  the  mountain  men  to  whom  she  was  ac- 
customed. 

He  stood  on  a  side  of  the  line  supposedly  in- 
nocuous and,  being  a  creature  of  another  and  more 
subtle  and  refined  world,  was  assumed  by  her  to 
be  beyond  vulgar  male  instincts  or  temptations. 

How  much  of  her  delight  in  adventuring  in  this 
Safe  Land  was  due  to  her  intuitive  attraction  to 


150  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Radnor  is  not  to  be  recorded  here.  Certainly 
she  did  not  recognize  it;  that  much  may  be  re- 
corded, at  any  rate. 

So  she  was  very  much  surprised  and  enraged 
when,  whipped  beyond  endurance,  he  kissed  her. 

He  could  not  help  it. 

Could  you  help  smelling  a  bunch  of  violets  if  it 
were  held  close  to  your  face?  And  Polly  was  so 
close  to  him  that  he  felt  her.  We  won't  explain 
that  in  case  some  one  out  of  the  many  readers  we 
hope  to  have,  chance  to  understand  it. 

Her  lips  were  deep  red, — not  scarlet-coral  in 
tint, — and  as  he  crushed  his  to  them  they  made 
him  vaguely  giddy.  Staggering  back  from  that 
close,  mad  clasp,  he  felt  a  frantic  distaste  and 
revulsion  of  feeling.  Such  kisses  should  have 
been  kept  for  Enid,  only — he  felt  very  sure  that 
Enid  would  not  have  accepted  them. 

Which  shows  just  how  much  he  knew  about  it. 

Polly  in  a  wild  revulsion  of  feeling,  a  frantic 
turbulence  of  disturbed  ideals,  shot  backwards 
half  across  the  room,  as  white  as  she  had  been 
rose-red  before. 

"How — dare — you  ?"  she  stammered, 


DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  151 

Jack  Radnor  knew  that  there  were  no  words  in 
which  to  excuse  himself  to  her,  and  he  felt  hor- 
ribly, abysmally  ashamed.  He  would  not  say  the 
mechanical :  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  for  it  was  alto- 
gether too  inadequate.  He  merely  stood  with 
lowered  head,  tense  in  every  muscle,  and  wonder- 
ing whether  he  should  ever  be  able  to  look  Enid 
in  the  face  again. 

"I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman!"  Polly  flung 
at  him. 

"So  did  I,"  was  his  simple  response. 

She  laughed,  an  angry  low  laugh;  and  she  had 
never  looked  lovelier  in  her  life,  though  he  could 
not  know  it  since  he  was  not  looking  at  her. 

"I  wish  your  girl  joy  of  you!"  she  went  on, 
fiercely  sullen.  "Why  don't  you  make  love  to 
her  for  a  change  ?  She's  alone,  and  might  like  it !" 

"Alone!" 

Polly  retreated  even  further  before  the  look 
in  his  eyes,  and  the  tone  in  his  voice.  She  had 
not  told  him  before  that  Enid  Forsythe  was  alone 
at  the  Toll-gate  House.  She  did  not  quite  know 
why. 

"Miss  Forsythe  is  alone?"  repeated  Jack  Rad- 


152  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

nor,  all  softness  gone  from  his  clear  brown  eyes. 
"You  left  her  there — alone?" 

Polly,  who  liked  to  play  with  fire,  but  hated  to 
admit  it  even  to  herself,  nodded,  with  her  head 
turned  away. 

"She's  alone,  all  right !"  she  retorted.  "And — it 
seems  to  me  that's  a  fine  question  for  you  to  ask!" 

For  the  first  time  since  the  fatal  kiss,  they 
looked  at  each  other,  and  it  was  as  though  they 
met  the  eyes  of  strangers.  Suddenly  they  had 
slipped  back  across  their  crossed  trails,  and  re- 
garded each  other  with  a  hostile  or  at  least  an 
alien  gaze. 

It  is  a  curious  fact  that,  as  Jack  Radnor  and 
Polly  Mason  kissed,  they  had  not  thought  of  one 
another.  Now,  facing  the  cold  disillusionment  of 
afterwards,  they  wondered,  both  of  them,  how  the 
thing  could  ever  have  happened.  Polly  was  not 
a  passionate  woman,  in  spite  of  her  appearance, 
and  she  did  not  like  being  made  love  to  too  des- 
perately. Jack  was  altogether  too  passionate  to 
be  able  to  endure — for  more  than  a  passing  mo- 
ment— any  one  except  the  girl  whom  he  really 
loved  with  all  of  him, — heart,  soul  and  body. 


DANGEROUS  BLOOMS  153 

"Miss  Mason,"  he  said,  with  his  eyes  now  very 
far  from  her  face,  "I  am  afraid  that  we  would 
better  go  on  toward  the  Four  Trail  Crossing.  We 
— we  may  find  some  news  of  your  father 
there " 

It  was  lame,  and  he  knew  it.  Polly,  throwing 
her  cape  about  her,  knew  it,  too,  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  a  deep  and  resentful  scorn. 

Jack  went,  quickly  out  into  the  open  air,  and 
breathed  the  night  wind  in  deep  gulps.  He  felt 
— it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  put  down  what  he 
felt.  Anyway,  out  of  the  many  self-reproaches 
which  the  Black  Evils  in  his  conscience  hurled  at 
him  and  kept  on  hurling  relentlessly,  there  was  one 
which  seemed  to  stay  fixed  in  his  heart  like  a 
barbed  and  poisoned  arrow.  Without  intention, 
and  without  consequence,  he  had  played  Martin 
Hale  false.  All  his  life,  that  would  be  a  debt  to 
be  paid  somehow — whether  Martin  Hale  ever 
knew  it  or  not. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MALONE'S  SHACK 

.    .    .    This  Ijfe  is  wine,  red  wine, 
Under  the  greenwood  boughs!    Oh,  still  to  keep  it, 
One  little  glen  of  justice  in  the  midst 
Of  multitudinous  wrong. 

— ALFRED  NOYFS. 

"T    ISTEN!"  exclaimed  Polly,  sharply. 

Jack  sprang  to  the  door,  and  flung  it 
open.  Voices  and  galloping  hoofs  were  rapidly 
nearing  the  shack. 

Farther  away  rang  out  a  shot,  and  then  came 
the  crash  of  a  horse  taking  to  the  shrubbery. 
With  an  exclamation,  Jack  turned  back,  and  picked 
up  Polly  and  carried  her  to  the  one  other  room  the 
cabin  boasted.  If  there  was  to  be  trouble,  she 
must  at  least  be  as  far  out  of  range  of  it  as  pos- 
sible. 

i54 


MALONE'S  SHACK  155 

Then,  turning  quickly,  he  stood  still  in  amaze- 
ment, for  it  was  Ralph's  voice  that  he  heard,  and 
he  was  saying  rather  breathlessly: 

"Come  on,  Hale.  This  is  our  best  chance, — 
old  Malone's  shack.  It's  built  to  stand  a  good  bit 
of  a  siege,  if  I  know  Malone!" 

Into  the  cabin  dashed  Denby  and  Martin  Hale, 
closing  the  door  and  lowering  the  great  bars  into 
place  as  soon  as  they  were  inside.  Jack  realized 
for  the  first  time  how  unusually  stoutly  the  shack 
was  prepared  for  defense. 

Then  the  two  men  turned  and  saw  him.  After 
one  gasp  of  mutual  astonishment,  they  promptly 
dismissed  the  stranger  that  had  brought  them  to- 
gether again  under  these  circumstances,  and  went 
to  work  closing  the  wooden  shutters,  and  other- 
wise strengthening  their  position. 

"It's  the  train-robbing  crowd,"  said  Ralph  hur- 
riedly to  Radnor.  "Or  at  least  a  detachment  of 
them.  They  separated  us — "  he  indicated  Hale 
— "from  our  own  men  and  we  had  to  run  for  it. 
Old  Heaton  will  round  them  up,  of  course,  but 
meanwhile — too  bad  to  get  you  mixed  up  in  it 
like  this,  Jack!" 


156  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Rot!"  said  Jack,  who  was  ransacking  the 
cabin  for  firearms.  But  even  as  he  hunted  he 
was  wondering  how  on  earth  Martin  Hale  and 
Ralph  Denby  should  be  on  the  same  side,  and 
why,  if  they  both  were  with  Sheriff  Heaton's  men, 
they  should  come  so  confidently  to  Malone's  for 
refuge?  The  thing  was  getting  more  mixed  up 
every  minute.  And  the  complications  were  not 
helped  by  Polly's  presence  in  the  next  room. 
What  would  Martin  Hale  say  to  that?  He  re- 
membered very  well  how  he  himself  had  felt  that 
evening  when  he  had  come  upon  the  young  moun- 
taineer and  Enid  in  the  Toll-gate  House. 

However,  a  gun  was  the  thing  he  wanted  now, 
and  he  couldn't  find  a  sign  of  one. 

"Damn  the  man! — Does  he  keep  them  locked 
up?"  he  growled  impatiently. 

"Not  armed,  Jack?"  said  Denby.  "You  were, 
earlier  in  the  evening." 

"I  lost  that,"  said  Radnor  shortly.  Until  he 
understood  the  situation  more  clearly  there  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  stating  that  it  was  Hale's 
revolver  that  he  had  lost. 

"By  Jove,  that's  a  pity!"  exclaimed  Denby.    He 


MALONE'S  SHACK  157 

turned  to  Hale :  "He's  a  crack  shot, — better  than 
I  am, — and  I'm  willing  to  bet  he's  better  than 
you,  too!" 

"Easy  enough,"  said  the  young  hill  man,  briefly. 
"I'm  fair,  but  I'm  not  a  dead  shot." 

"Hello !"  cried  Denby,  in  suppressed  excitement, 
"I  believe  they're  coming!" 

Crash  after  crash  in  the  underbrush  and  a  sud- 
den shout  told  them  that  their  enemies  had  seen 
the  light  in  the  cabin  window. 

Denby  turned  impressively  to  Jack,  and  held 
out  his  revolver. 

"I  hate  to  be  out  of  a  scrap,"  he  said,  "but  I 
can't  use  this  as  well  as  you  can!  Go  to  it!" 

At  the  same  moment,  Hale  held  out  his  weapon 
to  Radnor. 

"Here's  old  man  Mason's,"  he  said.  "Better 
keep  yours,  Mr.  Denby.  I'm  not  needing  it  to- 
night." 

Ralph  stared  at  him.  Outside  the  cabin,  the 
rush  and  stumble  of  horses  sharply  stopped  filled 
the  brief  pause. 

"But "  Denby  began. 

Hale  stopped  him.    "These  fellows  outside  are 


158  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

my  crowd,"  he  said  simply.  "I  couldn't  pull  a 
gun  on  them,  could  I?" 

A  heavy  knock  came  on  the  door. 

"Is  Billy  Malone  there?"  demanded  a  rough 
voice. 

"No!"  said  Denby,  clearly. 

There  was  a  sort  of  snarl  outside,  and  con- 
fused and  broken  sentences  reached  them:  "That's 
him!"  "That's  the  chap  with  Heaton's  men.  I 
knew  some  of  'em  had  run  in  here!"  "Damned 
lucky  for  the  skunks  that  Malone's  away!"  Then 
the  voices  became  more  threatening. 

"Open  the  door!"  commanded  some  one. 
"Open  the  door,  or  we'll  smash  it — and  you, 
too!" 

"I'll  open  no  door  when  I'm  asked  to  in  that 
fashion!"  retorted  Ralph,  wrathfully.  He  had 
Southern  blood  himself,  and  could  not  stand  being 
ordered  about. 

"Steadily!"  warned  Jack  with  his  hand  on  his 
arm.  Ralph  shook  him  off  and  cried: 

"I  am  Deputy  Sheriff,  and  I  represent  the  Law. 
— If  you  fellows  will  talk  sense  instead  of  threat- 
ening me,  I'll  open  the  door  and  have  it  out  with 


MALONE'S  SHACK  159 

you.  But "  Radnor  caught  hold  of  him  again 

and  made  him  listen  to  him  almost  by  physical 
force.  His  was  in  all  ways  the  stronger  will  and 
personality  and  he  forced  it  on  his  friend,  until 
Ralph  most  unwillingly  stood  silent. 

"You  idiot!"  said  Jack,  in  a  low  tone,  but  with 
deep  and  fervent  emphasis.  "Don't  you  see  you're 
going  about  the  whole  thing  wrong  end  first? 
We're  in  no  position  to  dictate  terms.  Use  your 
head,  Ralph,  if  you  can  get  the  blood  out  of  it 
long  enough.  Violence  is  just  what  we  don't 
want, — anything  but  that,  because  if  it  comes  to 
that  we  haven't  a  dog's  chance.  Do  you  really 
suppose  you  and  I  with  a  gun  apiece  can  uphold 
the  Majesty  of  the  Law  against  a  gang  of  high- 
wayers  and  cut-throaters? — Will  you  keep  your 
fool  mouth  shut  for  a  minute  while  we  decide  what 
to  do?" 

"Do  what  you  damn  please,"  said  Denby,  a 
little  suddenly  but  more  sensibly. 

"Better  decide  quick!"  come  the  harsh  voice  at 
the  door.  "Do  we  break  down  the  door  or  not? 
— We'd  burn  you  out,  you  rats,  if  you  weren't  in 
Bill's  shack!" 


i6o  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Jack  turned  quickly  to  Martin  Hale. 

"Have  you  any  influence  with  these  men?"  he 
demanded,  in  a  sharp  undertone. 

"Only  in  one  way,"  said  Hale,  speaking  slowly. 
He  seemed  to  be  nerving  himself  for  some- 
thing. Suddenly  he  squared  his  splendid  shoul- 
ders. "We'll  try  it  anyhow,"  he  said  firmly.  "I 
guess  it's  coming  to  me!" 

He  raised  his  powerful  voice  and  called: 

"Malone's  not  here,  boys,  but  I  am — Hale!" 

"Hale!"  There  was  a  chorus  of  excited  aston- 
ishment. Through  it  ran  a  rising  surge  of  resent- 
ment that  culminated  in  the  fierce  and  accusing 
query : 

"What  are  you  doing  with  one  of  Heaton's 
men,  Mart  Hale?" 

"If  I  open  the  door  and  tell  you,"  said  Martin, 
"will  you  agree  not  to  start  anything  till  we've 
thrashed  the  whole  thing  out?" 

"Good  for  you!"  muttered  Jack. 

"If  you're  with  the  Deputy  Sheriff  we  won't 
agree  to  anything!"  shouted  one  of  the  men  out- 
side.   "Come  on,  boys — down  with  her!" 
There  was  a  rush  for  the  door,  but  before  they 


MALONE'S  SHACK  161 

could  reach  it  both  Jack  and  Martin  had  sprung 
to  the  big  bars,  lifted  them,  and  swung  the  door 
wide  open.  It  was  a  desperate  chance  but  the 
only  one. 

"Now  speak  to  them,  quick !"  commanded  Jack. 

The  men,  astonished  by  the  unexpected  opening 
of  the  door  paused  for  just  an  instant.  It  was 
enough.  Hale  stopped  and  frowned  facing  them 
with  his  hands  up.  There  was  a  puzzled  silence, 
and  Martin  spoke  quietly,  while  Jack  and  Denby 
stood  tense  and  waiting  close  at  hand, — the  former 
with  old  Mason's  revolver  firmly  clutched  in  his 
coat  pocket. 

"You  see  I'm  not  armed,"  said  Hale.  "I  want 
to  talk  to  you  a  moment." 

"Boys,"  said  Hale,  "I'm  one  of  you  and  you 
can  trust  me.  I'll  never  land  one  of  you  in  trouble 
and  you  know  it.  But,  boys,  I'm  through.  I 
want  to  quit  the  game  and  I'm  putting  it  up  to  you 
straight.  Ain't  I  got  the  right  to?" 

No  one  spoke,  though  so  far  they  listened  to 
him  without  breaking  in.  After  a  wistful  look 
over  the  sullen  faces,  Hale  squared  his  shoulders 
sharply  and  said,  in  a  voice  that  rang: 


1 62  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"I  gave  the  hold-up  away,  boys  I" 

Above  the  roar  of  fury  from  the  mob  came 
Polly's  shrill  cry  of  "Martin — oh,  Martin! 
They'll  kill  you!" 

The  shuddering  notes  of  her  voice  seemed  to 
put  new  strength  and  authority  into  the  man.  He 
raised  one  powerful  arm  and  stilled  the  tumult  as 
all  real  force,  either  spiritual  or  physical,  can  al- 
ways still  disturbance. 

"Listen  to  me !"  he  ordered  sharply.  "I've  been 
one  of  you,  stuck  by  you,  and  you'd  kill  me  like 
a  'possum,  because  I  dared " 

The  growling  wave  of  anger  rose  more  men- 
acingly than  before,  but  before  it  could  break 
into  its  foam  of  violence  Jack  Radnor  had  taken 
a  hand.  He  held  the  revolver  in  his  hand  and 
composedly  though  casually  moved  it  on  a  slow 
and  cursory  orbit  covering  intermittently  every 
point  in  the  crowd  the  while  he  talked. 

"Maybe  you  think,"  he  said,  in  his  clean-cut, 
well-bred  accents  that  commanded  at  least  atten- 
tion, "that  Hale  was  only  trying  to  do  you  a 
dirty  trick  when  he  tipped  Heaton  off  to  that  black- 
guardly business  down  the  track  to-night. — Hold 


MALONE'S  SHACK  163 

on  there !  I'm  running  this  show  till  I  get  through 
talking,  and  I  don't  like  being  interrupted!" 

Acting  on  a  sudden  impulse  he  deliberately 
flung  up  his  revolver  and  shot  at  a  swaying  branch 
disclosed  by  the  wavering  light  from  behind  him. 
A  delicate  flutter  of  leaves  descended.  He  singled 
out  a  spot  on  the  trunk  a  bit  farther  down  and 
hit  that.  A  man  moved  uncomfortably  in  the 
crowd,  and  the  seemingly  leisurely  and  preoccu- 
pied revolver  covered  him  instantly.  A  hat  be- 
gan to  duck  stealthily  and  suddenly  flew  into  the 
air.  It  was  a  risky  game,  but  it  appealed  to  the 
rough  viewpoint  of  the  men.  Somebody  laughed. 
"All  right,  mister,"  he  called,  "I  reckon  we'll 
listen!" 

Jack,  however,  still  held  the  gun,  as  he  went  on 
speaking  as  though  there  had  been  no  interrup- 
tion. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  confounded  idiots," 
he  said,  "Hale  did  you  the  whitest  turn  any  man 
ever  did  a  set  of  ruifians.  He  was  one  of  you, 
and  he  did  his  damnedest  to  keep  you  from  queer- 
ing yourselves  into  the  penitentiary.  I'm  not 
preaching.  I'm  talking  horse-sense  at  the  end  of 


1 64  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

a  gun, — which  is  the  only  way  any  chap  has  a 
chance  to  talk  sense  in  this  part  of  the  world,  as 
far  as  I  can  see ! " 

"What  was  that?"  muttered  Ralph,  quickly  in 
his  ear.  Horses,  unquestionably,  were  coming 
nearer.  A  hope  sprang  contagiously  from  breast  to 
breast  among  the  three  young  men  in  the  shack, 
but  Radnor  raised  his  voice  to  cover  the  approach- 
ing sounds. 

"Hale  is  the  last  man  on  earth  to  turn  State's 
evidence, — if  that  means  getting  any  of  his  pals 
into  trouble.  He — listen  to  me,  you  chicken- 
heads,  don't  keep  turning  around  like  that! 
Haven't  you  lived  in  the  hills  long  enough  to  get 
used  to  bats  and  hoot-owls? — He " 

But  the  play  was  over.  A  crash  in  the  under- 
brush started  every  man's  hand  toward  his  hip, 
but  the  subsequent  click  made  them  each  pause 
half-way.  Sheriff  Heaton's  husky  drawl,  sharp- 
ened by  urgency,  cut  the  air  definitely. 

"Hands  up,  everybody!  If  that's  Martin  Hale 
standing  at  Malone's  door,  he's  under  arrest!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ENID'S  PATIENT 

.    .     .     Doing  ill, 
Expect  some  ill  be  done  thee!    .    .    . 

...     In  the  toils 

O'  the  net,  where  swords  spring  forth,  will  he  be  fast — 
Minded  to  kill  his  neighbors — the  arch-knave! 

.     .     .  A  dying  man, 
Your  foe,  that  pays  the  price  of  deeds  he  did. 

— ROBERT  BROWNING. 

T  EFT  alone  in  the  Toll-gate  House,  Enid 
confronted  her  charge  with  mingled  feel- 
ings. The  little  wizened  man — Malone  by  name, 
though  she  did  not  know  it — was  not  an  attractive 
specimen  of  humanity  at  his  best.  Wounded  and 
with  his  ugly  features  pinched  and  haggard,  he 
was  a  still  less  agreeable  vision.  Enid  was  de- 
cidedly repelled  by  him;  moreover,  she  was  not 
used  to  sick-nursing  and  her  ministering  instincts 

165 


1 66  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

were  as  yet  somewhat  embryotic.  Add  to  her  dis- 
concerted attitude  of  mind  the  reaction  of  mood 
after  her  dangerous  play  with  Martin  and  you 
may  guess  something  of  the  chaotic  condition  of 
her  sensations  as  she  looked  at  the  wounded  man 
left  in  her  care.  She  was  very  far  from  heart- 
less, however,  and  really  did  her  best  after  a  cer- 
tain instinctive  fastidious  shrinking  to  do  what  she 
could  for  her  patient.  Under  her  light  hands, 
busied  in  smoothing  the  cushion  under  his  head 
and  easing  the  position  of  his  injured  arm,  he 
opened  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  feeling  better?"  asked  Enid  kindly. 

The  lamplight  on  her  fair  hair  gave  her,  for 
the  moment,  a  sort  of  nimbus,  and  the  man 
blinked  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way. 

She  brought  a  cup  of  spirits  and  water  mixed  by 
Radnor  for  emergencies  and  put  it  to  his  lips. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  demanded  the  sick 
man,  staring  up  at  her. 

"Your  nurse,"  returned  Enid,  thinking  that 
she  might  just  as  well  waive  full  explanations  as 
long  as  possible.  At  any  rate,  she  did  not  know 
much  about  the  true  inwardness  of  the  situation. 


ENID'S  PATIENT  167 

Jack  had  been  in  anything  but  an  illuminating 
mood. 

"Nurse !"  repeated  the  man.  "Which  of  us  Is 
dopey?" 

Enid  wanted  to  laugh,  and  yet  she  realized  that 
the  situation  could  not  be  accepted  as  a  laughing 
matter.  In  the  first  place  the  man  might  die  on 
her  hands.  As  she  looked  at  him  he  moaned 
harshly. 

"You're  in  pain,"  Enid  said  pityingly.  "Let  me 
help  you  to  lie  more  comfortably." 

Radnor  and  Hale  had  cut  his  sleeve  away  and 
the  slit  coat  was  rumpled  up  underneath  him  in 
a  way  which  must  have  aggravated  his  suffering. 
She  bent  to  arrange  it  more  easily,  and  started  as 
though  transfixed.  For  from  the  sagging  pocket 
at  the  side  of  the  coat,  which  had  been  cut  off, 
slipped  suddenly  a  small  shining  thing — a  thing 
which  Enid  recognized,  unless  indeed  as  she  had 
half-believed  more  than  once  that  night  she  were 
really  at  home  in  bed  dreaming  the  whole  busi- 
ness. She  did  not  betray  her  astonishment,  but 
bent  in  an  unconcerned  way  and  picked  up  the 
glittering  little  object.  It  was  just  what  she  had 


1 68  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

imagined — the  quaint  little  emerald  pin  she  had 
given  Alice  Baker  the  Christmas  before.  How 
on  earth  had  it  gotten  into  the  pocket  of  this 
horrid  little  man  of  the  hills?  Alice  Baker  was, 
so  Enid  told  herself,  many  miles  from  Warm 
Sulphur  Springs.  What  was  her  brooch  doing 
here  ?  And  yet  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  The 
setting  made  the  matter  certain,  for  it  was  unusual 
and  unmistakable.  Enid  had  bought  it  at  an 
antique  shop  and  recognized  even  the  odd  dent  in 
the  beaten  silver  rim.  She  slipped  it  unostenta- 
tiously into  the  front  of  her  shirtwaist  and  eyed 
her  patient  with  growing  distrust  and  disfavor. 
However  the  pin  had  come  into  his  hands  it  could 
scarcely  have  been  by  any  honest  means.  Acting 
on  a  sudden  impulse,  Enid  suggested  his  turning 
slightly  on  his  other  side,  with  his  face  away  from 
her.  This  was  accomplished  with  comparatively 
little  trouble.  As  soon  as  his  head  was  turned 
aside,  Enid  quickly  plunged  her  hand  into  the 
pocket  and  drew  out — a  handful  of  jewelry  of 
varying  value.  Among  them  was  a  little  college 
pin  of  garnets  and  pearls — a  white  "H"  upon  a 
deep  red  flag.  She  had  one  exactly  like  it,  given 


ENID'S  PATIENT  169 

her  by  Jack  Radnor,  and  she  knew  that  Ralph 
Denby  had  given  Alice  one. 

Suddenly  she  knew  that  this  man  was  some  one 
who  might  some  day  be  very  much  wanted  by  a 
great  many  persons.  And  yet  she  must  stay  here 
and  nurse  him  instead  of  giving  him  up  to  justice. 
Before  she  had  time,  however,  to  feel  more  than 
the  beginnings  of  dismay  at  this  situation,  all  re- 
sponsibility was  taken  out  of  her  hands  by  the 
man  turning  on  her  with  an  unexpected,  cat-like 
twist,  and — catching  her  in  the  very  act  of  exam- 
ining his  loot! 

The  quick  rage  that  lighted  his  eyes  made  the 
girl  retreat  from  the  couch.  She  had  never  be- 
lieved a  human  countenance  could  be  capable  of 
so  much  vengeful  malevolence. 

"So!"  snarled  the  man,  breathing  hard  and 
painfully.  "You'd  rob  a  chap  that's  sick  and  not 
able  to  take  care  of  himself!  You're  a  pretty 
one,  you  are!  But  you'll  not  get  off  so  easy — 
you " 

He  struggled  to  get  off  the  couch. 

"Oh,  don't!"  cried  Enid  in  real  distress,  her 
new-born  excitement  in  the  role  of  amateur  de- 


170  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

tective  lost  In  the  purely  humane  desire  to  keep  htm 
from  hurting  himself.  "You  mustn't!  You'll 
start  your  wound  bleeding  again  1  I  only  hap- 
pened to  see  the  things " 

"You  lie!  You're  a  rotten  spy!"  croaked  the 
man  venomously.  "They  left  you  here  to  spy  on 
me  and  rob  me !  But  I  won't  stand  for  it — d'you 
hear?  I  won't " 

Tottering  weakly,  he  did  actually  manage  to 
stagger  to  his  feet  and  with  his  face  the  more 
terrifying  because  of  its  ghastliness  started  toward 
her.  A  deep  red  streak  widened  on  his  dirty 
shirt  sleeve  with  every  movement  that  he  made. 

Beseeching  him  to  be  quiet,  to  lie  down,  Enid 
backed  away  from  him,  wondering  what  in  the 
world  she  ought  to  do.  Again  the  decision  was 
taken  out  of  her  hands  by  the  Chance  that  seemed 
to  rule  this  strange  night. 

The  quiet  darkness  outside  suddenly  became 
populous  and  violent.  Down  the  clear  long 
stretch  from  the  Ridge  Trail  horses  were  plunging 
at  a  dangerous  pace.  The  ring  of  shots  in  the 
distance  was  caught  by  the  granite  crags  about 
and  multiplied  in  very  tantalizing  echoes.  Men's 


ENID'S  PATIENT  171 

voices  came  stridently  nearer  and  there  was  the 
crunch  of  gravel  under  slurring  hoofs,  and  the 
unmistakable  creak  of  leather.  A  horse  snorted 
and  sneezed,  pulled  up  abruptly  and  the  rough 
voices  lowered  to  tense  urgency.  .  .  . 

The  door  opened  quickly  and  vehemently  to 
admit  the  Toll-gate  Keeper  himself.  With  him 
was  Martin  Hale  and  behind  them  a  knot  of  the 
hill  outlaws. 

The  situation,  hastily,  not  to  say  sketchily,  ex- 
plained by  old  Mason,  was  this: 

The  men  of  the  hills,  realizing  that  Martin 
Hale  had  not  meant  to  betray  them,  had  suddenly 
turned  in  his  favor.  When  Heaton's  posse  had 
appeared  it  had  only  been  a  minute  before  these 
rough  but  sincere  mountaineers  had  rallied  around 
their  old  comrade  and  contrived  one  of  those 
elusive  and  baffling  get-aways  with  him  that  are 
forever  exasperating  even  to  the  most  experienced 
minions  of  law  and  order.  Somewhere  from 
under  old  Heaton's  eyes  they  had  abstracted  the 
prisoner  and  with  him  had  melted  away  among 
the  rough  undergrowth  that  fringed  the  Ridge. 
At  the  plateau  before  the  Toll-gate  House  they 


172  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

had  met  with  Mason  who  was  now  about  to  help 
Hale  to  safety.  Seeing  Malone,  he  gave  a  sharp 
ejaculation  and  said:  "He  must  be  looked  to, 
as  well,  boys!  Lord  knows  /  didn't  want  to  be 
mixed  up  in  these  doings  any  longer,  but  Mart's 
innocent  and  has  to  get  off  and  we  can't  leave 
Malone  for  them  to  pick  up  at  their  convenience." 

"What'll  you  do — send  'em  by  the  Other 
Way?"  demanded  one  of  the  mountaineers. 

Mason  nodded. 

"I  reckon,"  he  said.  "Anyhow,  you  can  leave 
the  two  of  'em  here  all  right.  They'll  not  be 
taken,  I'll  bet  ye!" 

"That's  good  enough,"  said  the  man  who  had 
spoken  before.  "Good-night,  partner." 

A  low  mutter  of  "good-nights"  rumbled  through 
the  darkness — a  darkness  which  Enid  thought  was 
beginning  almost  imperceptibly  to  lighten  to  a 
faint  and  ghostly  gray.  A  moment  later  the  Toll- 
gate  Keeper  closed  the  door  and  turned  to  her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  kindly  enough,  "are  you  game, 
young  lady?  Your  mother  was." 

"Do  you  know  my  mother?"  asked  Enid,  sur- 
prised. 


ENID'S  PATIENT  173 

The  old  man  nodded. 

"Maybe  I  do  and  maybe  I  don't.  I  think  so. 
Anyhow,  we've  no  time  for  all  that  now.  We've 
got  to  send  these  chaps  the  Other  Way." 

"And  what,"  asked  Enid,  utterly  mystified,  "is 
the  Other  Way?  It  sounds — creepy,  somehow, 
though  I  don't  know  why." 

The  Toll-keeper  laughed. 

"The  Other  Way,"  he  explained,  "is  simply  a 
way  of  saying  the  way  that  other  folks  don't 
know  of, — not  the  regular  way,  not  the  known 
way,  not  the  above-ground  way.  Don't  look  so 
puzzled,  child.  You'll  see  in  a  moment  what  I 
mean." 

Hale  helped  him  to  move  a  chair  and  a  rug 
away  from  a  certain  spot  in  the  floor.  The  board- 
ing underneath  showed  on  close  scrutiny  a  defi- 
nitely square  outline.  Almost  at  once  Enid  saw 
what  it  must  be :  a  trapdoor  of  some  sort  leading 
— where? 

"The  Other  Way,"  proceeded  Richard  Mason, 
kneeling  to  insert  a  stubby  knife  blade  in  a  crack, 
as  a  prier,  "is  the  way  through  the  underground 
caves  of  these  mountains  of  ours.  We  use  it  very 


174  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

seldom,  but  it  is  a  safe,  secret  country  in  emer- 
gencies and — this  is  the  door  of  it!" 

He  bent  farther  over  and,  fascinated,  Enid's 
eyes  followed  the  deft  movement  of  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  OTHER  WAY 

So  I'm  aff  and  away  to  the  muirs,    .    .    . 
Ranging  far  frae  frowning  faces,  and  the  douce  folk  here; 
Crawling  up  through  burn  and  bracken,  louping  down  the  screes, 
Looking  out  frae  crag  and  headland,  drinking  up  the  simmer 
breeze. 

Oh,  to  hear  the  eagle  screaming,  sweeping,  ringing  round  the 

sky — 
That's  a  bonnier  life  than  stumbling  ower  the  muck  to  colt  and 

kye. 

— CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

LOWLY  the  solid  oak  lid  of  the  door  moved 
upward :  for  a  breathless  moment  Enid  gazed 
into  a  hot  darkness  that  thrilled  her  with  myste- 
rious potentialities.  So  the  Toll-gate  House  was 
built  like  this,  on  a  veritable  volcano, — or  what 
seemed  actually  worse  than  a  volcano — a  space, 
an  abyss  of  undreamed  of  depth  and  reach, 


176  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

warmed  and  freshened  by  strange  underworld 
airs  that  faintly  murmured,  or  so  she  fancied, 
like  captive  winds.  Already  Hale  was  carrying 
the  wounded  man  across  the  room.  It  was  a  pain- 
ful business,  for  he  was  fretful  with  pain — half 
delirious  indeed — and  Martin  was  forced  to  pause 
more  than  once  to  ease  the  tortured  shoulder  and 
wipe  the  cold  sweat  from  his  drawn  face.  And 
before  the  black  gap  in  the  floor  could  be  reached 
— they  all  started  and  listened  with  strained  at- 
tention. For  they  were  coming — the  men  of  the 
law.  The  voices  of  men  and  the  scrambling 
tread  of  pressed  horses  drew  always  closer. 
There  was  no  time  for  escape  now.  Noiselessly, 
with  a  frowning  look,  Richard  Mason  lowered  the 
trapdoor.  Hale,  holding  his  burden,  hesitated 
and  Enid  pulled  the  couch  quickly  forward. 

"Lay  him  here!"  she  said.  Hale  did  so;  the 
couch  was  sufficiently  close  to  the  trapdoor  to 
hide  it  from  the  casual  observer.  There  had  been 
no  time  to  replace  the  rag  rug.  It  was  Enid,  too, 
who,  even  as  heavy  footballs  sounded  at  the  door 
of  the  Toll-gate  House,  seized  the  cloth  on  the 
center  table.  Mason,  quicker-witted  than  Hale, 


THE  OTHER  WAY  177 

raised  the  lamp  enough  to  let  her  pull  the  cover- 
ing off.  She  flung  it  over  Malone,  whispering 
"Don't  move,  as  you  value  your  life!" 

Then  she  pushed  Martin  down  back  of  the 
couch,  so  that  he  crouched  close  to  the  edge  of 
the  trapdoor.  Mason  saw  her  idea. 

"We'll  do  it  yet!"  he  muttered  exultantly,  and 
then  called  aloud:  "Coming,  coming!  What's 
all  the  row  about?" 

As  he  hurried  to  the  door  he  could  not  suppress 
a  chuckle  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Enid  calmly 
settling  herself  upon  the  couch,  leaning  back 
against  the  covered  form  of  Malone  as  non- 
chalantly as  though  his  bumpy  little  person  were 
a  pile  of  sofa  cushions. 

The  opening  door  admitted  Jack,  carrying 
Polly,  Ralph  Denby  and  Heaton.  The  rest  of  the 
Sheriff's  men  waited  outside — pushing  as  close  to 
the  door  as  possible  in  order  to  miss  nothing. 
Even  in  these  wild  hills  a  night  like  this  was  some- 
thing a  bit  out  of  the  ordinary. 

It  was  a  question  as  to  which  face,  Jack's  or 
Enid's,  was  the  greater  study  at  that  moment, — 
his  when  he  saw  her  languidly  lounging  there,  ap- 


178  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

parently  quite  indifferent  to  the  turbid  happen- 
ings of  the  night,  or  hers  when  she  stared  at  him 
carrying  Polly  Mason  in  his  arms. 

However,  there  was  no  time  for  personalities 
of  any  sort,  as  the  business  of  the  moment  was  the 
apprehension  of  Martin  Hale.  Mason,  with  a 
coolness  which  the  Sheriff's  men  found  disconcert- 
ing, told  them  to  search  the  place.  Enid,  as  they 
proceeded  to  do  so,  stretched  herself  even  more 
lazily  and  comfortably  against  the  curiously 
padded  back-rest  of  her  couch.  And  as  two  of 
the  posse  passed  into  one  inner  room  to  search, 
one  into  another,  and  a  fourth  went  to  peer 
through  the  back  door,  Enid's  eyes  caught  those 
of  the  Toll-keeper  in  a  swift  illuminating  flash. 
Jack  Radnor  saw  that  look  and  stood  rooted  to 
the  floor,  for  it  was  as  though  he  saw  Enid  for 
the  first  time.  That  alert,  alive,  significant  ex- 
pression that  could  not  belong  to  his  conventional 
little  fiancee.  He  had  no  time  for  wonder,  how- 
ever. Almost  as  soon  as  that  lightning  glance 
had  passed  between  them,  old  Mason  had  clumsily 
stumbled  against  the  heavy  center  table.  Down 
it  went,  lamp  and  all,  and  after  a  crazy  flash  and 


THE  OTHER  WAY  179 

a  great  deal  of  evil  smell,  the  Toll-gate  House 
was  in  complete  darkness.  So  many  sounds  were 
audible,  or  seemed  to  be  audible,  in  that  dark- 
ness, that  it  was  hard  to  say  what  one  heard  and 
what  one  did  not.  There  seemed  to  be  faint 
groans,  sundry  creakings, — as  from  rusty  hinges 
or  the  like, — and  a  faint,  dull  bang,  then  a  scuf- 
fling, shuffling  sound,  and  then — some  one  found 
a  match  and  struck  it.  Its  fitful  flare  showed 
Enid  standing  erect,  with  some  heavy  drapery  in 
her  hands.  A  tardily  discovered  candle  disclosed 
the  same  thing,  only  revealing  further  that  she 
was  crying  hysterically  with  her  face  buried  in  the 
folds  of  what  she  held.  It  appeared  to  be  the 
cover  which  had  been  upon  the  couch. 

Jack,  stirred  instantly  at  sight  of  her  over- 
wrought condition,  took  a  quick  step  forward  to- 
ward her,  but  she  turned  from  him  and  sank  in 
a  heap  on  the  floor  not  far  from  the  couch.  As 
she  crouched  there  she  listened  eagerly  for  the 
sounds  that  would  tell  her  that  Martin  Hale 
and  Malone  were  escaping  on  the  Other  Way. 
For,  naturally,  they  had  taken  the  opportunity  that 
Mason  had  given  them  by  overturning  the  lamp. 


i8o  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

And,  of  course,  Jack  Radnor  had  to  choose  that 
moment  to  say : 

"Enid,  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 
She  turned  on  him  in  an  irritation  that  posi- 
tively made  her  tremble.    For  the  h'rst  time  in  her 
proper  little  life  she  let  herself  go: 

"Yes!"  she  cried  vehemently,  "Go  to  the  devil!" 
Radnor    stared    blankly    at    her    and    walked 
out. 

Heaton  and  his  men  scattered  to  hunt  for  the 
fugitive  Hale,  and  Mason  bent  over  his  daughter, 
petting  her  and  making  much  of  the  hurt  ankle. 
Enid  hid  her  face  and  did  not  lift  it  again  until 
Radnor  came  in  again  with  the  formal  announce- 
ment that  the  horses  were  ready. 

This  time  when  he  asked  her  if  she  wanted  to 
go  home  Enid  agreed  without  demur.  If  there 
was  a  certain  distant  atmosphere  about  her,  her 
fiance  did  not  seem  to  notice  it.  He  mounted  her 
carefully  and  impersonally  and  they  set  out  in  the 
red  of  an  unseasonably  hot  and  fiery  sunrise! 
Something  in  the  air  was  close  and  oppressive,  and 
though  the  winds  were  still,  anyone  who  knew 
the  mountains  would  have  had  a  presentiment  of 


THE  OTHER  WAY  181 

impending  evil  weather.  Not  for  nothing  and 
for  no  reason  do  these  sultry  lurid  dawns  come 
thundering  in  the  late  summer.  Inevitably  they 
are  sinister  heralds,  flinging  their  blood-red  ban- 
ners across  a  cowed  world,  announcing  the  de- 
vastation and  storm  that  follow,  hungrily,  in  their 
wake. 

Old  Mason  stood  at  the  door  of  the  Toll-gate 
House  and  watched  them  go. 

"She's  like  her  mother,"  he  said,  half-aloud. 
"More  spirited,  outwardly,  —  but  I  wonder 
whether  she  has  half  the  spirit  within  her?" 

Then  he  went  in  to  his  daughter.  Polly  was 
crying  a  little  and  nursing  her  wrenched  foot. 
She  had  not  done  anything  wrong,  but  she  felt 
vaguely  ashamed,  and,  at  the  same  time,  sorry 
for  herself. 

"Oh,  Dad,"  she  moaned,  softly  into  the  Toll- 
keeper's  sympathetic  shoulder,  "there  seems  to  be 
an  awful  lot  more  things  we-all  girls  have  to  worry 
about  than  you-all  men!" 

"  May  seem  so,  honey,"  he  comforted  her,  "but 
I  reckon  men  and  women  are  mighty  like  each 


1 82  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

other,  take  it  all  in  all.  Now  I'll  make  you  some 
coffee,  little  girl!" 

Down  the  trail  rode  Radnor  and  Enid,  silent  in 
that  still  red  dawning.  Already  the  air  was  hot; 
a  haze  lay  over  the  Valley. 

"Your  friend,  Miss  Baker,  is  down  there,"  Jack 
remarked  casually. 

Enid's  tired  body  straightened  in  her  saddle  as 
if  galvanized. 

"Jack  Radnor,  what  are  you  talking  about? 
Alice  isn't  within  miles  of  Warm  Sulphur 
Springs." 

"She  wasn't,  but  she  is  now,"  interrupted  Rad- 
nor, as  patiently  as  he  could.  Enid's  attitude  had 
not  been  a  comfortable  one  with  which  to  asso- 
ciate, and  as  for  being  tired — well,  the  dear  Lord 
knew  he  was  tired  himself.  He  didn't  waste 
words  this  morning. 

However,  as  Enid  pressed  the  matter,  her 
feminine  curiosity  utterly  vanquishing  her  fatigue, 
he  gave  her  in  a  somewhat  cut-and-dried  style  an 
account  of  the  events  of  the  night  in  the  Valley. 

Enid  listened,  utterly  absorbed,  and  when  he 
had  finished  his  narrative  of  the  hold-up  of  the 


THE  OTHER  WAY  183 

Millionaire's  Local  she  drew  a  deep  excited 
breath. 

"And  to  think  I've  got  those  things  of  Alice's !" 

It  was  Jack's  turn  to  stare.  "How  came  you  to 
have  them?"  he  was  beginning,  but  Enid  hurried 
on. 

"Well,  I  have!  Right  here,— only  look!"  She 
spread  out  some  small  bright  objects  in  her  bare 
pink  palm  and  they  gleamed  in  the  rose-red 
sunrise  light.  "There's  her  Harvard  pin — just 
like  mine,  and " 

"By  the  Lord  Harry!"  laughed  Jack,  heartily. 
"You've  double-crossed  our  friend  the  bandit  this 
time!" 

"How  double-crossed  him?  You  didn't  tell  me 
he  was  a  bandit — if  you  mean  the  man  you  left 
me  to  take  care  of — do  you?" 

"You  bet  I  do!  And  you've  gotten  his  loot, 
without  even  knowing  what  you  were  doing! 
Aren't  you  proud  of  yourself?" 

"For  what?"  she  wanted  to  know. 

"For  regaining  valuables  from  a  desperate  out- 
law, who  had  succeeded  in  holding  up  the " 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  said  Enid,  disdainfully, 


1 84  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"I'm  only  glad  I  got  this  stuff  because,  if  Alice  is 
here,  she'll  want  to  wear  some  of  it  at  the  Powder 
Dance  to-night." 

Jack  stared  at  her.  Powder  Dance !  How  had 
she  contrived  to  remember  such  a  thing,  here  at 
dawn,  among  the  everlasting  hills?  Her  hair 
glowed  like  a  nimbus  around  her  small  ivory-pale 
face.  She  looked  exalted,  exquisite, — yet,  she  was 
already  considering  the  Powder  Dance  in  the 
Valley  that  night! 

Girls  were  queer  things  and  no  mistake ! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NOON  IN  THE  VALLEY 

She  frowns  no  goddess,  and  she  moves  no  queen, 

The  softer  charm  that  in  her  manner  lies 

Is  framed  to  captivate,  yet  not  surprise; 

It  justly  suits  the  expression  of  her  face.    ... 

— SHERIDAN. 

CTORM  brooded  over  the  Valley  all  that  day, 
but  it  was  storm  couchant,  in  abeyance,  wait- 
ing craftily  and  sullenly  behind  the  thick  golden 
haze  which  scarcely  stirred  from  hour  to  hour,  so 
seldom  did  a  wind  arise.  At  the  Warm  Sulphur 
Springs,  the  atmosphere  was  quite  as  usual. 
People  who  came  to  the  Springs  were  accustomed 
to  having  their  own  way,  irrespective  of  weather  or 
seasons;  a  consistent  artificiality  even  in  the 
normal  matters  of  life  had  made  them  impervious 
to  those  conditions  which  affect  more  elementary 

185 


1 86  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

beings.  When  they  came  to  the  mountains  it  was 
for  certain  definite  and  defined  purposes,  and 
nothing  could  stand  in  their  way.  If  it  rained, 
they  played  bridge  instead  of  golf;  that  was  all 
the  difference  it  made.  They  did  not  even  deign 
to  complain;  it  would  have  been  a  confession  of 
mere  mortal  weakness  to  have  admitted  that  a 
beneficent  not  to  say  partial  God  had  by  any  chance 
made  them  uncomfortable. 

So,  in  spite  of  the  sultriness  and  the  falling 
barometer,  half-past  eleven  in  the  morning  saw 
the  place  in  full  swing.  The  real  patients,  rheu- 
matic and  gouty  cripples  on  crutches  and  in 
chairs,  made  their  way  to  the  Bath  House.  Those 
jaded  men  and  fagged  women  who  were  paying 
the  price  of  too  much  pleasure,  or  too  much  work, 
or  too  much  society,  or  too  much  gormandising, 
or  too  much  ambition,  or  too  much  of  the  vari- 
ously expensive  pursuits  of  life,  were  straggling 
out  to  play  such  games  as  they  dared  to  play 
without  creating  too  inconvenient  an  appetite  for 
food  and  drink. 

The  band  was  playing  in  the  pagoda-shaped 
bandstand  overlooking  the  tennis  courts.  It  was 


NOON  IN  THE  VALLEY  187 

pre-eminently  the  voice  of  the  place,  that  band, — 
eloquently  expressive  of  its  energetic,  yet  care- 
free and  luxurious  life, — a  life  given  up  solely  to 
having  the  best  possible  time  compatible  with  tak- 
ing a  cure.  The  same  wise  instinct  which  made 
Ned  Sperry  confine  his  afternoon  tea  music  to 
violins  and  'cellos,  caused  him  to  prescribe  brass 
in  large  doses  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 

The  members  of  the  hotel  orchestra  were  domi- 
ciled in  a  tumbledown  old  house  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  golf-links,  where  their  practice  could  not 
disturb  the  guests,  and  it  was  generally  believed 
that  Sperry  made  august  visitations  in  the  dead 
of  night  with  menus, — one  means  programs,  of 
course, — for  each  day.  It  is  possible  enough,  for 
like  all  geniuses,  no  detail  was  too  trifling  to 
command  his  attention.  At  any  rate  the  Warm 
Springs  Band  was  getting  a  deserved  reputation. 
He  had  contrived  to  put  the  Virginia  sunshine 
into  the  clarionets  and  trombones,  even  as  he 
put  the  colored  electric  lights  into  the  soft  and 
often  muted  strings. 

Usually  melodies  rang  out  blithely,  seeming  to 
come  dancing  down  the  fresh  winds  that  blew 


1 88  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

robustly  from  the  northern  end  of  the  Valley. 
But  to-day  the  very  blithest  melodies  selected  by 
Sperry  and  approved  by  his  leader, — or  vice-versa, 
— seemed  to  fall  with  a  heavier  cadence  than  they 
should  have. 

"There's  something  wrong  with  the  air!"  said 
one  of  the  musicians,  a  bit  disconsolately.  He 
was  artistic  and  a  sensitive  soul. 

But  the  Springs  resorters  were  for  the  most 
part  not  sensitive.  Already  the  whole  place,  sur- 
faced with  rolling  lawns  that  looked  like  bright 
green  plush,  was  dotted  with  men  in  white  flannel 
and  ducks  and  women  in  rainbow  gowns. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  was  sitting  with  Judge  Denby 
near  the  tennis  court  where  their  two  children, 
with  Alice  Baker  and  Jack  Radnor,  were  playing 
tennis.  Mrs.  Forsythe  looked  a  shade  tired, — 
for  she  had  been  in  a  fever  of  nervousness  until 
Enid  reached  the  hotel  safely  at  sunrise, — but  she 
was  as  charming  as  usual,  in  an  exquisitely  simple 
two-hundred  dollar  embroidered  muslin  frock,  of 
a  subtle  lavender  which  was  close  enough  to  rose 
color  to  bring  out  the  delicate  flush  of  her  smooth 
cheeks. 


NOON  IN  THE  VALLEY  189 

"Look  at  that  child  of  mine,  if  you  please!" 
she  exclaimed  in  humorous  despair.  "She  came 
home  at  daybreak  this  morning,  and  she  is  playing 
tennis  as  enthusiastically  as  though  she  had  had 
nine  hours  of  sleep!" 

"And  every  one  of  the  nine  a  beauty  sleep!" 
supplemented  Judge  Denby.  "She  really  is  the 
most  radiantly  pretty  thing  that  I  have  seen  in 
many  a  day!" 

Mrs.  Forsythe  smiled  fondly  at  the  vivid  little 
figure  as  it  sped  across  the  court  with  the  swift- 
ness and  grace  of  a  wheeling  bird. 

Enid  was  dressed  in  white  and  scarlet,  and 
had  thrown  her  hat  aside  as  usual.  The  sun 
burned  her  hair  to  flame;  her  face  was  flushed  and 
eager. 

She  was  playing  with  Ralph  Denby  against  Alice 
Baker  and  Jack.  This  assorting  of  partners  was 
entirely  her  doing.  She  laughingly  insisted  that 
Alice  and  Ralph  were  no  good  when  they  played 
together,  but  it  was  really  because  she  did  not 
want  Jack  for  a  partner,  a  fact  of  which  he  was 
perfectly  well  aware.  He  felt  decidedly  angry 
with  her,  and  his  mood  made  him,  if  anything, 


1 90  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

somewhat  handsomer  than  usual,  putting  an  added 
touch  of  color  in  his  brown  cheek,  and  an  un- 
wonted sparkle  in  his  dark  eyes. 

"What  a  decorative  thing  he  is!'*  Alice  had 
murmured  in  Enid's  ear  when  they  had  come  down 
to  join  the  young  men  an  hour  earlier. 

To  which  Enid  had  retorted,  with  marked 
acidity : 

"Useless  articles  have  to  have  some  excuse  for 
being  made !" 

"  'A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  forever!'  "  Alice 
had  reminded  her.  "You  unappreciative  little 
savage !  A  perfectly  good  objet  d'art  is  being 
wasted  on  you!" 

Alice  herself  was  looking  very  handsome  in- 
deed; but,  though  she  was  neither  awkward  nor 
heavily  built,  she  looked  both  when  compared  to 
Enid.  Jack  Radnor  found  some  perverse  and 
grudging  satisfaction  in  looking  at  Enid  across 
the  net.  She  might  be  hard  and  obstinate  and 
wilful  and  numberless  other  unpleasant  things, 
but  she  was  adorable. 

A  ball  bounded  across  the  court  and  along  the 
lawn. 


NOON  IN  THE  VALLEY  191 

Judge  Denby  sprang  up  almost  as  alertly  as  his 
son  might  have  done,  and  tossed  it  back  with  an 
easy  pitch.  Mrs.  Forsythe,  watching  him,  thought 
him  as  handsome  in  his  own  way  as  either  of  the 
young  fellows  on  the  court. 

"I  think,"  she  said  to  him,  smiling,  when  he 
had  returned  to  her  side,  "that  you  are  as  im- 
pertinently fresh  and  energetic  as  Enid! — No,  I 
truly  believe  you  are  worse !  What  do  you  mean 
by  looking  like  that  when,  as  I  know  perfectly 
well,  you  have  been  up  practically  all  night,  wait- 
ing for  Ralph?  'Do  you  think  at  your  age  it's 
quite  right?'  " 

The  Judge  laughed,  a  round  and  mellow 
laugh. 

"It  is  because  of  a  clear  conscience  and  a  beauti- 
ful disposition!"  he  confided.  "There  is  nothing 
like  them  to  keep  one  feeling  and  looking  young! 
— As  you  must  know!"  he  added,  with  the  old- 
fashioned,  flattering  intonation  which  always 
pleased  Mrs.  Forsythe. 

"I  do  not  believe,"  he  went  on  meaningly,  "in 
encouraging  the  shameless  feminine  sport  of  fish- 
ing, but " 


192  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

He  paused  with  one  of  his  merry  eloquent  looks. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  laughed. 

"Augustine  is  a  very  remarkable  maid  I"  she 
said  demurely. 

"Is  she  wholly  responsible?" 

"Wholly!    I  tell  you,  she  is  truly  remarkable." 

"She  is  beyond  price!"  said  the  Judge  with 
solemn  emphasis. 

Judge  Denby's  little  compliments  and  gallan- 
tries, his  air  of  deference  and  admiration,  always 
made  Mrs.  Forsythe  feel  more  interested  in  life 
than  usual.  Under  his  flattering  glance,  she 
blushed  very  slightly,  her  womanly  vanity  rather 
pleasantly  and  innocently  aroused. 

Ultra-modern  and  mondaine  as  she  was,  she  still 
loved  the  pretty  exaggerations  and  formalities  of 
an  older  day.  Many  women  of  the  world  acquire, 
with  years,  this  taste  for  the  ruffles  and  snuff-box 
period.  For  that  was  pre-eminently  the  golden 
era  for  men  and  women  of  middle  age  or  past. 
The  grandiloquent,  stilted,  charming  times,  for- 
ever associated  in  our  minds  with  spinets  and 
pot-pourri  and  flowery  and  long-winded  talk,  were 
times  when  maturity  reigned  supreme.  Youth  ran 


NOON  IN  THE  VALLEY  193 

through  it, — chattering,  kissing,  laughing,  fight- 
ing, sobbing, — for  youth  is  pretty  much  the  same 
at  all  dates  and  in  all  latitudes.  But  that  was  not 
an  age  in  which  youth  was  at  all  dominant.  Young 
things,  with  their  violent  tragedies  and  even  more 
violent  romances,  were  out  of  key  with  the  tune 
that  went  with  sweeping  curtsies  and  high-heeled 
shoes.  Middle  age,  with  its  sober  and  delicate 
comedies,  its  enchanting  restraints  and  equally  en- 
chanting absurdities,  flourished  in  whimsical  aus- 
terity in  those  lost  years  wherein  living  was  an 
artistic  achievement  and  not  an  emotional  neces- 
sity. 

It  was,  one  must  remember,  a  time  of  High 
Comedy, — and  in  rose-white  youth  there  is  not, 
and  never  has  been,  even  a  breath  of  Comedy! 

As  they  sat  there,  Judge  Denby  yielded  to  an 
impulse  such  as  comes  in  moments  of  enervation 
even  to  the  strongest  and  the  most  self-sufficient 
of  natures. 

"Did  you  ever  know,"  he  said,  "of  the  trouble 
between  Dick  and  myself?" 

Mrs.  Forsythe  started. 

"Dick!"  she  repeated.     And  then  she  said,  in 


194  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

an  odd  tone:  "What  made  you  think  of  Dick 
just  now?" 

"I  hardly  know,"  the  Judge  answered  her  ab- 
stractedly. "I  was  thinking  of  you  as  you  used  to 
be, — you  had  a  look  just  a  moment  ago  that  I 
have  often  seen  on  your  face  when  you  were  a 
girl.  And — when  I  think  of  you  as  a  girl,  I  al- 
ways, somehow,  think  of  Dick,  too." 

As  he  said  it,  he  realized  with  a  faint  shock, 
how  true  it  was.  She  and  Dick  had  been  almost 
inseparable  when  they  were  all  young  things  to- 
gether years  ago.  The  recollection  made  him  feel 
curiously  lonely.  .  .  . 

He  hurried  on : 

"When  Dick  dropped  out — it  was  my  fault. 
I — "  he  paused  and  his  face  hardened  oddly, — 
"I  was  not — honest.  I  let  him  suffer  when  I  could 
have  saved  him.  No;  I  was  not  honest." 

Mrs.  Forsythe  could  hardly  believe  her  ears. 
But  as  she  looked  at  him,  amazed,  she  saw  that 
he  looked  suddenly  old. 

"Why  did  you  speak  of  it  now?"  she  whispered, 
with  a  shiver,  in  spite  of  the  sultriness  of  the 
day. 


NOON  IN  THE  VALLEY  195 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Judge  Denby.  "I  seem 
to  feel  Dick  closer  to  me  than  ever  before, — 
than  ever  before!  .  .  .  Ah!  They  have  finished 
the  set !  Well,  children,  and  which  side  has  won?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AT  TWILIGHT 

.    .    .    We  catch  love, 
And  other  fevers,  in  the  vulgar  way: 
Love  will  not  be  outwitted  by  our  wit, 
Nor  outrun  by  our  equipages. 

— E.  B.  BROWNING. 

FORSYTHE  and  Alice  Baker  were  ex- 
changing  twilight  confidences.  It  was  late 
on  the  same  afternoon,  the  afternoon  of  the 
Cotillon  Poudre, — the  Powder  Dance  in  regard  to 
which  Enid  had  been  so  concerned.  Alice  had 
come  to  Enid's  room  ostensibly  to  help  her  curl, 
dress  and  powder  her  hair  for  the  dance,  but  in 
reality  to  "have  a  comfortable  talk."  Every 
woman  knows  what  that  means. 

The  girls  had  not  seen  each  other  for  some 
time,  and  in  spite  of  certain  reserves  and  surface 

196 


AT  TWILIGHT  197 

subterfuges  inevitable  between  girls  of  their  train- 
ing and  environment,  they  were  genuinely  fond 
of  each  other  and  wanted  the  shy  luxury  of  con- 
fessing, discovering  and  generally  discussing  their 
respective  heart-dramas. 

It  was  not  yet  quite  dark.  The  sunset  light 
was  sifting  in  through  the  closed  curtains  com- 
bining with  the  colored  glow  within.  The  maid 
would  have  closed  the  heavier  draperies,  shutting 
out  the  gloaming,  but  Enid  stopped  her.  Through 
the  two  squares  that  made  the  windows  one  could 
still  see  the  big  mountain  range,  undulating  black 
against  the  sky.  And  the  sky  was  tinged  with 
that  magical  afterglow  which  only  the  eastern 
heavens  may  know  in  perfection.  The  mood  of 
the  hour  stole  into  the  room  and  affected  the  two 
girls. 

Enid,  enveloped  in  a  great  gold-embroidered 
kimono,  sat  on  the  foot  of  the  chaise  longue. 
Alice,  in  vivid  green,  wandered  restlessly  about. 

They  made  a  charming  picture  in  their  con- 
trasting good  looks.  Enid  so  delicately  fair  and 
golden,  so  young  and  so  deceptively  fragile  in  ap- 
pearance; Alice  so  dark,  and  little  and  vivacious. 


198  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

The  electric  lights  in  Enid's  room  had  all  been 
softened  by  rose-colored  shades  and  the  chaise 
longue  was  heaped  with  mauve  cushions.  The 
maid  at  the  dressing-table  went  about  her  business 
of  arranging  exquisite  things  until  Enid  stopped 
her,  gently  enough,  and  asked  her  to  make  tea, — 
her  own  particular  brand,  not  the  sort  that  one 
could  order  by  telephone,  from  the  hotel  office. 

"Mais,  parfaitement,  Mademoiselle,"  agreed 
Augustine,  and,  unseeing,  the  brush  she  had 
thought  to  put  upon  the  dressing-table,  slid  to  the 
floor.  Alice,  lolling  back  in  a  low  wicker  chair, 
picked  it  up.  It  was,  apparently,  of  delicately 
carved  gold. 

"My  word!"  said  Alice.  Enid  looked  up  ab- 
stracted, and  then  laughed. 

"Oh,  surely!  That  is  nice,  isn't  it?  I  had  a 
fit  once  and  decided  to  have  all  my  ugly  silver 
things  'dipped.'  That's  one  of  the  results. 
Gorgeous,  isn't  it?  Of  course,  it's  only  plate." 

"It  looks  like  Benvenuto  Cellini!"  declared 
Alice. 

"That  was  the  intention.  I  always  like  those 
queer  Italian  curlycue  things — "  Suddenly  she 


AT  TWILIGHT  199 

broke  off.  Alice  was  looking  straight  at  her  and 
Enid  was  truly  an  honest  little  soul.  "Oh,  Alice," 
she  burst  out,  "I  feel  all  at  odds  and  ends!  I 
don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me,  but  I'm 
on  edge,  and  uncomfortable  and — I  wish  I  were 
dead!" 

She  suddenly  began  to  cry — though  she  had  not 
shed  a  tear  before.  Alice  scowled  at  her  a  mo- 
ment in  worried  tenderness  and  then  got  up, 
stalked  over  to  the  chaise  longue,  and  gathered 
her  consolingly  up  in  her  strong  arms.  Alice  went 
in  for  athletics  and  could  play  the  Amazonian 
type  very  well. 

There  was  no  playing  about  this,  however; 
Alice  really  loved  Enid  and  she  could  see  that 
Enid  was  dreadfully  and  unaccountably  upset. 
Anybody,  almost,  could  see,  and  Alice  was  de- 
cidedly better  than  "anybody." 

"Honey,"  she  said  coaxingly,  as  she  cuddled 
Enid.  "What's  the  matter  with  Jack  Radnor?" 

It  sounds  vulgar  and  slangy;  but  it  was  the 
earnest  expression  of  Alice's  highly  affectionate 
heart.  Enid  hid  her  face  against  her  friend's 
shoulder,  and  began  to  cry. 


200  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

It  all  came  out  then  with  a  rush — the  story  of 
the  mountain  top  and  the  midnight  madness  that 
had  thrilled,  yet  revolted  her.  As  she  told  Alice 
about  it,  it  all  seemed  clearer  and  less  jumbled 
than  it  had  in  her  own  disturbed  memory.  Not 
only  could  she  see  with  a  deeper  flush  of  shame 
her  own  incredible  weakness  where  Martin  Hale 
had  been  concerned,  but  she  could  see  with  an 
even  more  troubled  perception  what  he  still  might 
mean  to  her.  She  knew  for  the  first  time  the 
ageless  spell  which  we  call  sex  and  which  may 
be  dissociated  from  sense  and  sentiment  alike. 
She  spoke  of  the  mountain  man  with  a  sort 
of  awe; — it  was  he  who  had  opened  up  to  her 
this  new  and  perilous  complication  in  a  com- 
plicated life.  Yet  she  knew  she  did  not  love 
him. 

"He  was — extraordinary!"  said  Enid,  in  a 
secret  sort  of  voice. 

Alice  nodded.  She  understood.  Because  she 
understood,  she  spoke,  as  it  were  casually,  playing 
about  among  costly  trifles  that  lay  upon  the  table 
close  at  hand. 

"I  know.     Funny  how  a  new  thing  strikes  you, 


AT  TWILIGHT  201 

— all  at  once,  as  it  were!  And  after  all  it  isn't 
a  new  thing  at  all!" 

Enid  leaped  at  that,  the  light  from  the  shaded 
electric  lamps  so  thrown  that  her  golden  eyes 
glowed  and  her  soft  face  was  idealized  by  a  mist 
of  romance. 

"That's  just  it!"  she  proclaimed,  almost  ex- 
citedly. "He  was  extraordinary.  And  yet — as 
you  say — it  wasn't  a  new  thing  at  all !  It's  turned 
my  whole  life  upside  down,  and  I  don't  know 
where  I  am, — no,  I  don't  know  even  what  I  am!" 

Alice  scowled,  patted  and  smiled.  She  was  sane 
and  human.  Her  normal  impulses  and  judgment 
had  never  been  submitted  to  quite  the  atrophying 
process  Enid  had  known.  But  she  had  a  quaint 
good  sense  all  her  own.  It  had  made  her  the 
outspoken  lovable  creature  she  was, — a  girl  of 
the  world,  who  could  make  allowances  for  the 
freaks  of  the  world  and  those  of  inherent  human 
nature  as  well.  Out  of  the  wisdom  of  her  twenty 
comfortable  years,  she  spoke  and  Enid  cuddled 
closer  to  her,  finding  a  certain  comfort  in  the  very 
notes  of  her  warm  unhurried  Southern  utterance. 

"Say,  honey,"  said  Alice  Baker,  after  a  thought- 


202  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

ful  silence.  "I  reckon  I've  often  seemed  a  weird 
sort  of  animal  to  you-all — you  being  brought  up 
North  and  all  that — and  I'll  admit  that  there's  a 
whole  lot  that  we  old-time  Southerners  take  for 
granted  that  we  find  a  heap  oftener  in  Northerners 
than  in  our  own  folks.  But  there's  one  thing 
Southern  girls  do  get  a  line  on  early" — Enid  loved 
her  mixed  idiom — "and  that's  men,  honey  lamb. 
Maybe  it's  sort  of  undignified  calling  'em  'things,' 
but  anyhow  you  know  what  I  mean.  Since  I  was 
a  youngster,  I  knew  men  were  all  just  youngsters, 
too,  and  that  the  women  that  knew  it  were  the 
women  who'd  win  out !  Say,  darling,  am  I  getting 
on  your  nerves,  chattering  and  gibbering  like  this?" 

"Rather  not!"  Enid  was  reduced  to  a  candid 
procedure  which  she  liked  while  it  embarrassed 
her. 

With  a  sort  of  triumphant  rush  of  outwelling 
honesty  she  flung  her  gauntlet  down  before  Alice. 

"I  nearly  ran  away  with  him!  I'm  not  a  bit 
sure  that  I  wouldn't  feel  the  same  way  again  if 
things  happened  to  work  out  like  that.  Stop 
looking  at  me  like  that!  I'm  just  telling  you  the 
truth.  I've  always  wanted  something  that  I 


AT  TWILIGHT  203 

couldn't  get.  I  don't  know  what  it  is  exactly,  but 
I  know  Martin  Hale  can  give  it  to  me,  and  I 
know  I'd  rather  have  it  from  Jack  than — Heaven! 
— from  any  one  else.  Only  I  can't.  Jack  would 
think  it  all  quite  horrid.  And  I  dare  say  it 
is." 

"Men  are  queer!"  ruminated  Alice  Baker,  as 
she  picked  up  Enid's  forgotten  cream-lace  cap  and 
put  it  on  the  table.  "They  butt  in  on  other  chaps' 
preserves,  gunning  for  game  that  they  could  get 
on  their  home  estate!  And  I  don't  reckon  that 
we  girls  are  a  bit  better.  We  never  know  when 
we're  well  off,  and  we're  always  looking  for 
trouble, — even  when  by  a  queer  chance  trouble 
isn't  looking  for  us!" 

The  world  detests  violent  interruptions,  and  yet 
the  world  would  very  quickly  go  to  seed  without 
them. 

So  it  happens  quite  naturally  and  rationally  that 
Enid's  maid  should  put  in  her  appearance  at  about 
this  point  with: 

"The  young  lady  says  she  must  see  you,  Miss. 
I  tried  to  put  her  off,  but — "  Enid  rose  nervously. 

"Of  course!"  she  said. 


204  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Already  she  knew  who  was  to  face  her.  Some- 
thing deeper  than  apprehension  shook  her. 

"Show  her  in,"  she  said. 

Polly  Mason,  pale  and  lovely,  stood  in  the 
doorway. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PREPARATIONS 

Thou  who  with  hermit  heart 

Disdains  the  wealth  of  art, 
And  gauds  and  pageant  weeds,  and  trailing  pall, 

But  comes't  a  decent  maid, 

In  Attic  robe  arrayed, 
O  chaste,  unboastf ul  nymph,  to  thee  I  call ! 

— WILLIAM  COLLINS. 

OOLLY  had  evidently  screwed  her  courage  to 
the  sticking  point.  There  was  something 
almost  pathetic  in  the  bravado  with  which  she 
came  forward.  Almost  at  once  Enid  knew  there 
would  be  a  pretext — a  subterfuge.  It  came 
sooner  than  could  have  been  expected.  Miss 
Mason  drew  something  from  the  pocket  of  her 
loose  coat. 

"Your  glove,"  she  said.  Enid  had  a  sensitive 
instinct  to  accept  the  silly  explanation.  She  put 
forth  a  hand  courteously.  But  Alice  laughed  out- 

205 


206  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

right.  And  something  artificial  in  the  situation 
was  blown  away  by  her  clean  rush  of  honest 
laughter. 

"Will  you  please  forgive  me,"  she  said,  in  those 
same  warm  tones  so  hard  to  resent,  "but  did  you 
come  all  this  way  to  give  Miss  Forsythe  that 
glove?" 

Polly  turned  on  her.  They  were  almost  of  a 
height  and  size,  and  far  more  nearly  of  the  same 
temperament  than  Enid. 

"Of  course,  I  didn't  1"  she  flashed.  "Do  I  look 
like  a  fool?" 

Again  Alice  Baker  laughed — this  time  delight- 
edly. 

"You  bet  you  don't,"  she  retorted,  with  char- 
acteristic slanginess.  "You  look  stunning!" 

Polly  had  never  looked  so  lovely.  A  rough 
dark  cloak  was  about  her  and  above  it  her  face 
was  exquisite,  tragic  and  beautiful  in  its  appeal. 
With  a  simple  dignity  that  recognized  and  met  the 
situation  she  went  toward  Enid. 

"Martin  Hale  is  in  danger,"  she  said  quietly, 
but  with  just  a  catch  between  her  words  now  and 
then.  "It  was  partly  that  that  brought  me.  But," 


PREPARATIONS  207 

she  looked  from  Enid  to  Alice  with  great  appeal- 
ing eyes,  "I  don't  reckon  he's  in  much  danger 
now.  It  was — something  else." 

Neither  answered,  knowing  that  she  would  go 
on.  She  did,  breathlessly. 

"All  my  life  I've  wanted  the  things  that  you- 
all  are  born  to.  I've  wanted  fine  clothes — and  I 
can  wear  'em,  too!  I've  wanted  a  place — a  great 
bright  place  to  be  glad  in.  I — "  She  stumbled 
over  the  words.  "I  want  to  go  to  that  ball  to- 
night, if  I  die  to-morrow." 

No  one  stirred  for  a  moment  and  the  mountain 
girl  clasped  her  hands  tensely. 

"I  know,"  she  said  restlessly,  "that  I  sound 
wild,  but —  Oh,  you  don't  know — you  can't  know 
how  I've  wanted — how  I've  dreamed  of  something 
like  that !  I  know  I  belong  to  another  world  from 
you-all " 

She  hesitated,  looking  from  one  to  the  other  of 
them  piteously.  Enid  could  not  answer,  did  not 
know  how  to.  It  was  Alice  who  put  in  swiftly 
and  with  honest  force: 

"I  should  rather  say  you  did  belong  to  another 
world — a  much  nicer  one  than  ours,  my  dear  girl !" 


208  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Enid  hesitated,  half-puzzled,  but  Alice  Baker 
made  a  quick  movement  forward,  and  flung  her 
arms  around  Polly. 

"Don't  you  see,"  cried  Alice,  "she  must  have 
her  chance!  She  must  go  to  the  ball!" 

Polly's  eyes  were  like  big  dark  stars. 

"You  do  understand!"  she  gasped,  amazed. 

"Of  course,  we  understand!"  Alice  Baker  ex- 
claimed and  the  whirlwind  of  her  response  swept 
Enid  along  with  it.  "You're  a  splendid  thing, 
child,  and  you're  going  to  be  the  'Queen  of 
Hearts.'  You  were  meant  to  be — for  to-night, 
anyway.  Isn't  she,  Enid?" 

Enid  nodded,  deeply  flushed.  There  was  a  ter- 
rible sense  of  guilt  on  the  part  of  both  herself  and 
the  mountain  girl.  Each  had  tampered  with  the 
other's  legitimate  lover;  they  could  hardly  meet 
each  other's  eyes. 

"Come!"  said  Alice  briskly.  "We  must  dress 
her  up.  My  clothes  will  be  just  the  thing.  You're 
built  something  like  me,  child, — only  infinitely 
better!" 

There  was  a  great  business  getting  Polly  into 


PREPARATIONS  209 

Alice  Baker's  things.  Alice  was  the  only  one  who 
was  wholly  jubilant.  Enid  was  too  engrossed  in 
her  own  problems  and  Polly  too  terrified  and 
thrilled  by  the  present  triumphant  situation  to  ex- 
perience an  unalloyed  joy.  But  Alice  was  minded 
to  take  advantage  of  this  unexpected  yet  for- 
tuitous happening  to  steal  a  little  extra  time  with 
Ralph  Denby  unknown  to  anyone.  Hence  did 
she  enthusiastically  deck  Polly  out  in  her  own 
raiment,  executing  small  steps  of  exultation  behind 
the  backs  of  every  one  except  Enid's  maid,  who 
was  a  wise  soul  and  saw  through  her,  yet  con- 
trived to  remain  discreet. 

Alice's  dress  was  of  a  deep  rose-red  which  suited 
Polly's  dark  loveliness  quite  as  well  as  her  own. 
After  she  had  been  hurried  into  it — the  hooks 
straining  a  bit,  because  of  her  fuller  and  more 
natural  development,  the  other  women  gaped  at 
her  until  she  blushed. 

"No  rouge  needed  here!"  proclaimed  Alice. 
"What  a  color — ye  gods!" 

"But  later?"  suggested  Enid.  "You  know  lots 
of  us  have  a  color  at  the  beginning  of  the  evening; 
it's  the  excitement,  but  later " 


210  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"For  her — "  began  Miss  Baker,  but  Polly's 
rich  tones  swept  in  ahead  of  what  she  would  have 
said. 

"For  me,"  she  said,  "it  will  be  all  excitement. 
And — the  color  will  last." 

The  French  maid  murmured  something  that 
sounded  like  "  Vous  crois  bien,"  but  they  were  all 
too  keyed  up  to  count  their  own  or  each  other's 
words. 

"But  what  arc  you  to  wear?"  Polly  remem- 
bered to  ask. 

"Never  you  worry  about  me!"  declared  Miss 
Baker  with  a  splendid  pirouette.  She  had,  as  has 
been  mentioned,  her  own  plans. 

When  the  maid  tucked  a  big  towel  about  Polly's 
superb  shoulders  and  started  to  apply  cornstarch, 
"No!"  exclaimed  Polly,  suddenly.  "I  don't  want 
the  powder." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Miss  Baker,  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"I  don't  know  why,"  said  the  hill  girl 
rather  awkwardly,  "only — it  just  doesn't  go  with 
me." 

Alice  surveyed  her  critically.     "You're  right," 


PREPARATIONS  211 

she  said,  after  a  moment  or  two.  "It  doesn't. 
My  dear  child,  I  think  you're  an  amazing  egotist. 
You  know  so  jolly  well  that  you  can't  approve  of 
— yourself." 

Polly  was  not  listening  to  the  words,  but  she 
recognized  the  tone  as  not  unkindly.  The  crim- 
son in  her  cheeks  came  and  went  and  she  looked 
at  herself  in  the  glass  with  a  shy  interest  in  her 
lovely  eyes. 

Enid  was  already  dressed.  She  had  accom- 
plished it  subtly,  hastily.  She  had  not  powdered 
her  hair,  but  otherwise  she  was  ready  for  conquest 
in  pale  blue.  The  thought  had  come  to  her  that 
she  would  like  to  see  Jack  Radnor  before  Polly 
appeared  before  him  in  that  amazing  and  conquer- 
ing glory.  She  was  ashamed  of  the  petty  jeal- 
ousy, but — there  it  was.  Having  a  suite  of 
several  rooms,  she  slipped  out  unnoticed,  while 
the  maid  was  dressing  Polly's  hair  and  Alice 
was  cutting  bits  of  black  court-plaster  for  the  final 
touches. 

"There!"  Enid  heard  Alice  say,  as  she  slipped 
away,  "this  bit  close  to  your  mouth,  and  this 
under  one  eye,  and  this  on  your  neck " 


212 

A  primitive  jealousy  blazed  in  Enid  as  she  went 
quietly  out.  Her  neck !  Of  course,  the  girl's  neck 
was  splendid,  but 

She  went  brazenly  down  the  hotel  corridor  to 
do  what  she  had  never  done  in  all  her  well-ordered 
life,  to  see  a  man  in  his  rooms  Radnor's  quarters 
were  on  the  same  floor, — a  rather  pretentious 
suite  where  she  and  her  mother  had  had  tea  once 
or  twice.  At  this  hour  he  would  be  almost  sure 
to  be  alone.  Her  heart  pounded,  but  she  stole  on, 
hushing  the  swish  of  her  silken  skirts. 

She  met  nobody  on  her  way  and  stopped, 
trembling,  at  his  parlor  door.  With  a  shaking 
hand  she  tried  it, — she  was  afraid  to  knock  and 
in  a  second  it  was  ajar.  She  wondered  if  he  were 
dressing,  and  if  she  need  be  afraid  of  his  man. 
Then  she  stood  transfixed.  For  inside  came 
Ralph  Denby's  voice,  clear  and  unmistakable: 
"We'll  get  him  to-night."  Jack's  followed:  "I'm 
sorry  you've  got  it  in  for  Hale,  Ralph.  I  think 
he's  a  decent  fellow." 

"He's  in  with  the  bunch.  He'll  go  to  jail  if 
Dad  and  7  can  do  it." 

Enid  was  a  modern  girl,  but  she  had  nerves — 


PREPARATIONS  213 

nerves  keenly  strung  up  to-night.  She  gasped 
faintly,  but,  as  it  happened,  audibly. 

Before  she  could  get  away  from  the  door  it  had 
been  flung  open.  As  she  confronted  Jack  Radnor 
a  sort  of  joy  touched  her.  She  loved  him  so,  in 
spite  of  her  vagaries!  She  moved  instinctively 
toward  him,  and  his  response  was  as  eager  as  she 
could  have  wished. 

"Enid!  Was  there  anything  you  need  me  for? 
Is  everything  all  right,  dear?" 

If  Ralph  Denby  and  the  valet  had  not  been 
there  she  might  have  thrown  herself  into  his  arms, 
asked  him  to  admire  her  dress,  confessed  her 
jealousy  of  Polly, — who  knows  what?  As  it  was, 
she  cast  wildly  about  in  her  mind  for  a  good 
excuse  for  her  highly  unconventional  presence. 
Then,  moved  partly  by  that  discretionary  and  self- 
protective  impulse,  and  more  by  a  sincere  anxiety, 
she  cried: 

"Is  Martin  Hale  really  in  danger?" 

Jack  Radnor's  face  hardened  to  stone — or 
rather  to  bronze,  since  that  was  his  coloring.  His 
brown  eyes  sharpened  and  chilled  until  all  the 
warm  golden  light  had  gone  out  of  them.  He 


214  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

drew  away  and  looked  at  Enid  as  though  she  had 
been  something  less  than  a  stranger. 

"He  is  most  decidedly  in  danger,"  he  said. 
Then  a  passing  glitter  leaped  into  the  brown  eyes. 
"So  that  is  why  you  are  here!"  he  said. 

Sick  and  cold  and  shaking,  Enid  turned  from 
him  blindly  and  fled  along  the  corridor.  To  save 
her  soul  from  torment  she  could  not  have  ex- 
plained— she  could  not  have  explained. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ENID :     LADY  ERRANT 

.    .    .    Good  at  need, 
Mount  thee  on  the  wightest  steed; 
Spare  not  to  spur,  nor  stint  to  ride, 

Say  that  the  fated  hour  is  come. 

—SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

'  I  AHE  doors  in  the  Forsythe  apartment  did  not 
only  connect,  but  all  opened  into  the  cor- 
ridor, so  Enid  was  able  to  slip  back  into  her  own 
bedroom  without  being  seen  or  heard.  It  was 
in  her  dressing-room  that  the  other  three  girls 
were  still  chattering  and  "preparing  for  the 
party." 

Enid  was  a  curious  girl, — very  elemental  at 
heart;  very  correct  outside.  Her  revulsions  and 
reactions  were  peculiar  and  were  controlled  by  in- 

215 


216  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

side  moods  and  outside  impressions.  To-night  a 
primitive  impulse  had  taken  her  down  the  hall- 
way to  her  fiance's  quarters.  Flung  back  upon 
itself,  that  primitive  impulse,  curdled  by  the  bit- 
terness of  her  passing  experience,  urged  to  a  plan 
of  action  entirely  unthought  of  by  her  hereto- 
fore. 

Martin  Hale  was  in  danger! 

This  was  the  point  which  leaped  up  paramountly 
before  her  mental  vision.  The  picture  of  him — 
the  mountain  god — as  she  had  trembled  before 
him  in  the  midnight  hours  on  the  mountain  top 
appeared  before  her  there  in  her  perfumed,  half 
darkened  bedroom.  His  coming,  even  spiritually, 
was  incongruous, — vaguely  shocking.  She  felt 
her  face  burn  and  did  not  know  where  to  look. 
But  the  fact  must  be  faced;  he  was  in  danger. 

Of  course  she  knew  that  it  was  her  duty  to  go 
straight  in  to  the  girl  in  the  other  room,  the  girl 
dressing  up  even  at  that  moment  in  the  rose-red 
gown,  the  girl  who  had  a  right  to  him,  and  tell 
her.  But — she  wouldn't! 

There  was  something  in  her  that  made  her  de- 
termine to  do  what  was  to  be  done  herself.  She 


ENID:  LADY  ERRANT  217 

knew  the  way  to  the  Four  Trail  Crossing  and 
surely  old  Mason  would  be  able  to  communicate 
with  him.  There  was  a  savage  sort  of  exulta- 
tion in  the  thought  that  she — the  "lady,"  sup- 
posed to  be  even  now  resting  before  her  conquests 
at  the  Powder  Ball, — should  win  out  over  Polly, 
the  girl  of  the  hills  on  ground  where  Polly  and 
riot  she  rightfully  belonged.  Enid  felt  suddenly 
liberated,  exhilarated.  Whether  Martin  Hale 
was  really  the  man  for  her  or  not,  she  was  about 
to  embark  upon  an  enterprise  which  conventional 
girls  did  not  as  a  rule  consider.  She  was  not 
going  to  any  Cotillon  Poudre;  she  was  going  alone 
into  the  mountain  fastnesses  at  night,  to  try  to 
save  a  man's  life — or  at  least  his  freedom.  The 
fierce,  adventurous  spirit  in  her  gloried  that  no 
one  was  going  to  know  her  mission.  She  was 
going  unaided,  unadvised.  But — she  was  going! 

She  walked  casually  into  the  dressing-room. 
She  could  only  reach  her  riding  clothes  by  cross- 
ing it. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Alice  Baker,  turn- 
ing, and  staring  at  her  friend's  white  little  face. 
"You  look  as  though  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 


2i 8  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"How  do  you  know  I  haven't?"  asked  Enid, 
a  trifle  hardly.  She  was  in  the  mood  when  one 
must  be  either  hard  or  emotional.  She  preferred 
the  former. 

"Because,"  said  Alice,  "ghosts  have  aristocratic 
tastes  and  don't  patronize  hotels." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Enid,  with  a  desperate  sense 
of  protecting  herself,  "that  ghosts  are  like  other 
creatures  and  go  where  they  can  find  the  best 
hunting." 

"Enid!"  exclaimed  Alice,  staring.  "You  don't 
sound  or  look  a  bit  like  yourself." 

"Isn't  that  comforting?"  said  Enid  calmly. 
"Oneself  is  nearly  always  such  a  dull  sort  of 
person." 

Before  Miss  Baker  could  put  in  any  other  dis- 
concerting word,  she  added,  smiling  at  beautiful 
flushed  Polly  in  the  dress  that  matched  her  cheeks. 
"Do  you  mind  my  telling  you  how  exquisite  you 
are,  Miss  Mason?" 

Polly's  flush  grew  a  bit  too  deep  for  perfect 
beauty,  but  Alice  said  lightly: 

"She's  going  to  be  'belle  of  the  ball !'  Look  out 
for  your  laurels,  Enid!" 


ENID:  LADY  ERRANT  219 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Enid,  with  that  sharp  thrill  of 
triumph  known  only  to  a  woman  when  she  really 
bests  another.  "I'll  leave  my  laurels  to  her.  I'm 
going  to  look  after — hers!" 

Wherewith  she  vanished  from  the  room. 

"What  on  earth  did  she  mean?"  said  Alice 
Baker,  knitting  her  brows.  She  turned  on  Polly, 
"Did  you  understand?"  she  demanded. 

"I  didn't  understand  the  words  entirely,"  said 
Polly,  with  bowed  head.  "But  I — I  reckon  I 
understood  the — the  idea." 

Alice  stared  a  little  more. 

"I  swear  you're  all  the  worst  lot  of  puzzles 
I  ever  struck!"  she  declared  impatiently.  "I 
wish  any  of  you  could  just  stick  to  one  line  for 
five  minutes !  But,  there,  child,  pin  up  the  curl 
over  your  right  ear,  and  be  careful  to  mince  a 
bit  as  you  walk.  You're  so  gorgeously  strong  and 
free  that  you  might  spoil  the  picture.  Walk  across 
the  floor  now." 

Polly  strode  splendidly  across,  her  round  long 
lines  swinging  and  curving  into  exquisite  poses  as 
she  moved. 


220  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"No — no!"  exclaimed  Alice  Baker.  Then  she 
stopped  and  surveyed  Polly  all  over  again. 

"Yes!"  she  said.  "Do  it  like  that!  No  one 
here  has  ever  seen  anything  half  so  beautiful." 

A  minute  later  Enid,  having  more  or  less  pre- 
pared her  way,  sauntered  back  into  the  dressing 
room.  Her  maid  was  watching  her  this  time. 

She  walked  into  the  large  closet  at  the  further 
end  of  the  dressing  room,  and  quickly  and  silently 
selected  a  complete  outfit  of  riding  things.  As 
she  did  so  she  could  hear  Alice  and  Polly  laugh- 
ing together  over  the  difficulty  of  placing  one 
particular  court-plaster  patch  upon  the  snowy 
shoulder  blade. 

Turning,  with  her  arms  full,  she  confronted 
the  horrified  face  of  her  own  maid. 

"Mademoiselle!"  she  gasped.     "What " 

"Chut!"  hissed  Enid,  imperatively.  "These 
things  must  be  taken  into  my  bedroom.  No  one 
must  know."  Even  in  the  dimness  her  eyes  were 
compelling.  The  woman  loved  her,  anyway. 

"One  moment!"  she  murmured.  Then  she 
seized  a  big  wrapper  of  velvet  and  fur  from  a 
near-by  hook  and,  taking  Enid's  burden  into  her 


ENID:  LADY  ERRANT  221 

own  arms,  covered  it  effectively.  They  went  out 
of  the  closet  casually,  carelessly.  Enid  stopped 
to  tell  Polly  how  charming  she  looked;  the  maid 
passed  on  unobserved  into  the  other  room.  Then 
Enid  followed  her  and  in  dead  silence  and  a  faint 
light  changed  her  dress. 

"Mademoiselle  is  no — going  into  danger?" 
whispered  the  maid. 

Enid  laughed  under  her  breath.  Already  the 
sting  of  the  adventure  was  whipping  her  blood. 

"I  don't  know!"  she  whispered  back,  almost 
gayly.  "These  things  are  in  the  hands  of  the  gods, 
Augustine!" 

"I  would  rather,"  said  the  Frenchwoman  sin- 
cerely and  irrepressively,  "that  they  were  in  the 
hands  of — Monsieur  Radnor!" 

Enid  chilled  and  stiffened. 

"You  need  not  'rather'  anything,"  she  said,  with 
a  sort  of  hushed  asperity.  "I  am  going  out  and 
no  one — not  even  Madame,  is  to  know  anything 
about  it.  Anyway,"  she  added,  with  a  momenta- 
rily returning  gleam  of  humor,  "you  don't  know 
where  I  am  going,  so  you  couldn't  tell  them  any- 
way." 


222 

"As  if  I  would,  Mademoiselle  1" 

"You  might  not!"  returned  Enid,  softening. 
"Anyway,  talk  to  no  one  of  my  going." 

"And— M.  Radnor?" 

"M.  Radnor  last  of  all." 

"But  if  Mademoiselle  did  not  come  back.  If 
there  were — if  there  might  be  trouble — then  I 
am  free  from  my  promise  and  may  speak?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Enid  indifferently,  as  she 
moved  warily  towards  the  door.  She  laughed 
noiselessly  and  slipped  out. 

Augustine  stood  still  in  the  center  of  the  room 
nodding  her  head  silently.  Then  she  murmured 
to  herself  with  unaffected  relief,  as  though  carry- 
ing on  the  conversation.  "Then  I  may  speak — 
and  to  M.  Radnor  first  of  all!" 

A  minute  later  she  shivered,  and  glanced  to- 
ward the  window.  It  was  already  dusk,  but  a 
curious  half  glow,  almost  more  illuminating  than 
light,  lay  on  all  things. 

"Dieu  nous  garde !"  muttered  Augustine,  cross- 
ing herself.  "A  thunderstorm  is  on  the  way!" 
She  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  Augustine  was 
afraid  of  thunderstorms! 


CHAPTER  XX 

BEFORE  THE  STORM 

Before  a  midnight  breaks  in  storm, 

Ye  know  what  wavering  gusts  inform 
The  greater  tempest's  path! 
Till  the  loosed  wind 
Drive  all  from  mind, 

Except  Distress,  which,  so  will  prophets  cry, 
O'ercame  them,  houseless,  from  the  unhinting  sky. 

— RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

Comes  a  vapor  from  the  margin,  blackening  over  heath  and  holt, 
Cramming  all  the  blast  before  it,  in  its  breast  a  thunderbolt. 

— ALFRED  TENNYSON. 

TIP  through  the  brooding  silence  Enid  rode. 
The  heaviness  of  an  impending  storm  was 
upon  her.  It  seemed  as  though  even  her  horse 
breathed  in  more  labored  fashion  than  was 
natural.  It  was  not  long  past  seven  o'clock.  Be- 
low, the  valley  lay  in  gloom ;  the  great  gorges,  or 

223 


224  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

gaps,  as  they  were  called  in  this  region,  had  a 
strange,  almost  a  ghostly  look.  They  were  full 
of  shadows,  and  a  purple-gray  light — if  sucK  a 
tint  could  be  called  light — lay  on  all  things.  No 
mist.  What  vapors  there  might  be  appeared  to 
have  been  drawn  up  into  the  massed,  cumulous 
thunder-heads  that  piled  the  heavens  with  their 
looming  menace. 

A  flock  of  birds  wheeled  sharply  across  her 
path.  It  looked  as  though  they  were  flying  low 
because  they  cowered  under  an  impending  peril. 
So  that  was  what  it  meant,  Enid  said  to  herself, 
"Swallows  flying  low."  Did  the  winged  creatures 
really  sense  a  tangible  pressure  above  them,  forc- 
ing them  down,  hampering  yet  goading  their  wings 
to  this  earth-bound,  panic-stricken  flight. 

She  pushed  onward,  upward.  There  was  no 
wind.  The  air  was  dead  and  dull.  What  life 
there  was  she  felt  to  be  psychical,  in  abeyance,  like 
an  electric  dynamo  temporarily  stilled.  Her  face 
was  hot  and  wet,  and  she  wiped  it  mechanically. 
So!  She  had  been  as  spent  as  that?  Her  mount 
too  was  lathered,  though  she  was  too  good  a 
horsewoman  to  have  forced  him  unduly. 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  225 

Once,  in  a  tunnel,  she  had  had  the  sense  of  a 
bursting  pressure  on  her  ears  and  brain.  Then  it 
was  physical.  Now,  she  had  much  the  same  feel- 
ing, though  it  must,  of  course,  be  largely  mental, 
if  not  entirely  so. 

Her  nerves  were  drawn  tense,  and  light  sounds, 
like  the  stir  of  leaves  or  a  pebble  under  her 
horse's  hoof,  rang  through  her  head  until  the  ex- 
aggerated persistence  appertained  to  the  impres- 
sions of  high  fever. 

Startled  more  by  her  own  strained  condition 
than  by  anything  else,  she  reined  up  and,  breath- 
ing deeply,  collected  her  thoughts. 

It  was  very  quiet  here  among  the  hills — so  quiet 
that,  as  has  been  stated,  the  lightest  echoes 
sounded  disproportionately.  On  one  side  of  her, 
the  left,  was  a  sheer  fall  of  mountainside  that 
flanked  the  trail.  Distances  immeasurable  lay 
before  her  that  way.  But  they  were  distances 
that  terrified.  She  who  was  singularly  free  from 
feminine  attacks  of  vertigo  shivered,  turned  her 
head  away,  and  looked  for  comfort  to  the  closely 
overhanging  rock  ledges  and  parapets  on  her 
right.  At  first  the  rising  hill  gave  her  panic  a 


226  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

lull;  it  was  so  immensely  solid,  so  settled!  One 
could  cling  there  forever,  even  if  eternity  itself 
yawned  on  the  other  side  but  a  few  feet  away. 
Then,  flung  back  upon  itself,  her  terror  took  a 
new  form — rather  an  added  one.  If  the  vague 
deeps  on  the  one  side  suggested  the  unfathomable, 
so  the  somber  heights  on  the  other  proclaimed 
the  unscalable.  She  felt  herself  an  atom  shivering 
between  two  implacable  alternatives. 

The  fear  was  momentary,  and  escaping  it,  she 
bent  low  over  her  horse's  neck  and  urged  him 
recklessly  up  the  narrow  trail.  The  clatter  they 
made  was  frightening  but,  for  her,  salutary.  When 
the  mount  had  clambered  into  the  summit  of  the 
Ridge,  Enid  had  her  nerves  as  thoroughly  in  hand 
as  her  reins. 

Then  it  was  that  the  first  heavy  throbs  of 
thunder  shook  the  whole  range  like  the  blows  of 
Vulcan  at  his  Forge. 

Looking  up,  Enid  saw  that  all  at  once,  the  low 
sky  had  swooped  even  closer.  The  Valley  was 
black.  Far  under  the  piling  clouds  a  dead-white 
ghostly  glimmer  showed  to  her  the  horizon  lay — 
somewhere  in  West  Virginia.  ...  A  voice  spoke 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  227 

in  the  trees  about  her,  the  voice  of  the  wind.  It 
was  a  tone  new  to  her:  not  the  soft  caroling  of 
summer  afternoons,  nor  the  loud  knocking  of 
fierce  tempests,  nor  the  low  wail  of  melancholy 
rains,  but  a  pertinacious,  deadly  undertone  like  the 
hushed  tuning  of  an  individual  instrument  of  a 
great  orchestra  just  before  an  immortal  symphony 
is  to  begin. 

A  swift,  short  light-blue  glare  made  her  horse 
rear.  But  she  quieted  him. 

She  had  dreamed  she  knew  what  lightning  was 
before.  But  this  was  like  the  rending  asunder  of 
a  merciful  veil,  showing  suddenly  the  blaze  of 
Hell  or  Heaven,  she  could  not  say  which. 

After  it,  the  thunder  rolled,  pulsed,  and  died 
away  among  the  hills.  Again  the  wind  wailed  in 
semi-darkness — for  what? 

And  her  horse  was  trembling.  She  patted  his 
neck,  hardly  knowing  what  she  did.  What  was 
going  to  happen  to  them  both? 

On  the  Ridge,  the  sky  seemed  within  touching 
distance,  and  blue-black.  Panting,  white  and 
soaked  with  the  cold  sweat  of  a  terror  which  she 
could  not  as  yet  analyze,  she  looked  from  the 


228  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

right  to  the  left  of  her.  On  the  Warm  Sulphur 
Springs  side,  the  view  opened  clear  and  sharp — 
the  sharper  apparently  for  the  weird  half  light. 
On  the  right — on  the  far  edge  of  the  rippling 
lower  ranges,  was  a  blur.  Mist?  As  yet  she  had 
seen  no  mist  in  the  valleys.  Yet  the  clouds 
seemed  unaccountably  merged  into  the  earth  in 
one  broad  patch.  One  broad  patch — was  it  not 
widening — drawing  nearer? 

Fascinated,  she  stared  at  it.  It  was  advancing 
like  a  square  of  vaporous  curtain  stuff  blown 
strongly  onward  toward  her.  It  had  the  look  of 
a  half-washed  slate — lighter  in  tint  than  the 
cloud-stuff  above.  And  it  was  coming  quickly, 
quickly.  And  it  came,  the  curious  low  note  in  the 
trees  about  her  grew  faintly  sharp,  and  shrill;  a 
breeze,  ice-cold  and  definite,  as  though  from  a 
hand,  touched  her  cheek.  Up  from  the  valleys 
on  either  side  of  her  rose  a  great  damp,  chilly 
breath.  .  .  .  The  blurred  patch  was  coming  closer. 
And  as  she  stared,  frightened,  yet  thrilled,  she 
saw  a  shiver  of  white  across  the  vast  wooded 
mountainside  on  the  other  side  of  the  Valley  land 
on  her  right.  The  silver  tremor  made  her  pause 


Enid,  riding  madly  along  the  ridge,  was  racing  one  of  the  great 
mountain  storms 


BEFORE  THE  STORM  229 

and  marvel  until  she  realized  what  it  was.  Then, 
with  a  gasp,  she  struck  her  horse  sharply  with 
her  crop  and  darted  headlong  along  the  bleak 
Bridge  Trail. 

It  was  a  great  wind  that  bent  the  forests  there 
beyond  until  they  were  silvered  and  tremulous 
beneath  it:  the  big  wind  that  heralds  those  mo- 
ments when  the  elements  rise  laughing  to  assert 
themselves  in  the  face  of  civilized  power  and 
control.  The  blur  that,  coming  straight  and  re- 
lentless from  the  horizon,  now  seemed  to  blot  out 
almost  all  the  world,  was  rain — a  cloud-burst 
probably. 

Enid,  riding  madly  along  the  Ridge,  was  racing 
one  of  the  great  mountain  storms. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MEN 

They  have  looked  each  other  between  the  eyes,  and  there  they 

found  no  fault, 

They  have  taken  the  Oath  of  the  Brother-in-Blood.    .    .    . 

— RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

TACK  RADNOR  parted  from  his  friend  Ralph 

Denby  at  the  door  of  his  rooms,  and  without 

being   in  the   slightest   degree   conscious   of  the 

process,  permitted  himself  to  be  helped  into  his 

evening  coat. 

Jack  Radnor  was,  as  has  been  said  before,  a 
very  primitive  man  at  heart.  To  this  fact  he 
owed  much  of  his  charm,  for  there  is  no  more  de- 
lightful creature  than  the  cave-man  with  irre- 
proachable manners.  No  one  not  born  with  the 
elemental  fires  in  his  make-up  ever  learns  the  true 
control  of  flame.  Bloodless  men  and  women  of 

230 


MEN  231 

breeding  and  of  the  world  are  like  dead  pearls, 
perfect,  but  with  neither  sparkle  nor  great  value: 
primitive  persons — also  of  breeding  and  of  the 
world — are  like  those  same  pearls  imbued  with  a 
living  blaze  that  makes  them  prismatic,  arresting, 
beyond  price. 

Standing  with  every  muscle  rigid,  as  his  man 
brushed  imaginary  dust  from  his  coat,  Radnor  ex- 
perienced two  choking  emotional  desires — one  to 
follow  Enid  and  wrest  the  truth  of  her  own  feel- 
ings out  of  her  by  violence  if  necessary,  the  other 
to  find  Martin  Hale  and  kill  him  for  having,  even 
momentarily,  arrested  her  interest.  But  he  made 
no  outward  demonstration  and  probably  had 
never  looked  cooler  nor  handsomer  in  his  life. 
Only,  as  he  stared  at  himself  in  the  glass,  he 
could  see  a  pinching  pallor  about  his  lips  and  a 
glitter  in  his  eyes  which  were  something  of  a 
self-revelation. 

"So  that's  what  I  am!"  he  reflected,  unclench- 
ing his  hands  and  feeling  his  palms  wet  and  cold, 
"a  brute  beast,  with  just  about  the  same  feelings 
as  a  wild  boar!" 

His  own  self-contempt  stung  him,  but  had  no 


232  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

power  to  shake  that  bitterly  savage  secret  mood. 
He  was  jealous — sickeningly,  maddeningly  jealous, 
and  there  was  not  a  nerve  nor  muscle  in  his  body 
that  did  not  ache  with  the  grip  of  it. 

"A  boutonniere,  sir?'* 

Jack  stared  at  the  man  as  though  he  had  sud- 
denly been  recalled  from  a  great  distance.  A 
boutonniere!  It  seemed  like  a  particularly  silly 
joke,  in  his  present  frame  of  mind.  He  laughed, 
not  very  pleasantly,  and  the  man  started.  He  had 
been  with  Radnor  since  he  left  college  and  knew 
every  inflection  in  his  voice.  There  was  something 
out  of  tune  about  that  laugh.  "There  is  a  gar- 
denia, sir,"  he  said,  soothingly,  "or  if  you  would 
rather  have  a  few  violets,  or " 

"Have  you  any  mountain  laurel?"  asked  Jack, 
sardonically. 

Ware  tried  to  conceal  his  instant  fear  that  his 
master  was  ill  or  had  lost  his  wits. 

"I — I  imagine  it  could  be  obtained,  sir,"  he 
said,  even  more  placatingly. 

Again  Radnor  laughed,  but  there  was  a  more 
human  note  in  it  this  time.  He  was  fond  of  the 
man.  All  at  once  he  realized  that  the  bouton- 


MEN  233 

mere  was  only  one  of  a  thousand  symbols  of  the 
control  which  the  civilized  man  places  over  the 
cave-man  within  him. 

"Let's  have  the  gardenia,  Ware,"  he  said, 
gently. 

The  waxen  white  flower  lay  cold  and  perfect 
against  the  black  of  his  coat:  it  set  a  sort  of  final 
seal  upon  his  acceptance  of  the  conventional  world 
and  its  ways.  He  did  not  like  gardenias,  but  the 
Lord  knew  they  were  symbolic!  And  the  very 
perfume  of  this  thing  emphasized  what  he  was 
trying  to  keep  in  mind, — self-mastery,  gentleness, 
courtesy,  good  breeding,  chivalry. 

Suddenly  he  felt  tired  and  depressed.  If  Enid 
did  not  care — and  he  could  hardly  persuade  him- 
self now  that  she  had  ever  cared — what  a  mean- 
ingless business  it  all  was!  He  might  as  well 
chuck  up  everything  and  go  west,  or  ship  on  a 
whaler,  or 

"Atavism!"  he  muttered,  half  laughing  to  him- 
self. 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir?"  said  Ware. 

There  was  a  knock  on  the  door — rather  an  odd 
knock.  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  there  is  a 


234  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

good  deal  of  individuality  in  the  way  persons  an- 
nounce their  wish  to  enter.  There  is  the  obse- 
quious tap  of  the  servant,  the  light,  confident 
touch  of  the  intimate  hand,  the  uncompromising 
thud  of, — let  us  say, — the  relentless  bill  col- 
lector. This  knock  was  repeated  twice;  it  was 
neither  light  nor  loud.  A  man's  hand  had  done 
it,  and  a  man  who  was  urgent  and  yet  not 
excited. 

When  Ware  opened  the  door  Martin  Hale 
stood  looking  in. 

Jack  suppressed  an  exclamation  as  he  sprang 
forward. 

"How  on  earth  did  you  get  here?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Asked  the  fellow  downstairs  for  the  number 
of  your  room  and  came  up,"  said  Martin  in  his 
slow,  unhurried  way.  The  calm  poise  and  dig- 
nity of  the  man  had  never  been  more  notice- 
able. 

"Did  anyone  see  you?"  said  Jack,  quickly. 

"Quite  a  heap,  I  reckon,"  said  Hale,  without 
emotion.  "Stared  as  though  they'd  never  seen  a 
flannel  shirt  before  in  their  lives." 


MEN  235 

He  grinned  amiably. 

There  is  one  queer  thing  about  men.  Hate  they 
never  so  viciously  they  keep  a  certain  loyalty  and 
freemasonry  of  sex  all  the  time.  Three  minutes 
before  Radnor  had  wanted  to  wring  the  moun- 
taineer's neck.  Now,  with  his  enemy  in  im- 
mediate danger  and  facing  it  so  coolly,  he  actually 
forgot  his  personal  grievance  and  was  filled  with 
one  idea — to  stand  by  him.  A  woman  is  not 
often  like  that;  she  may  help  her  rival  out  of 
trouble  but  she  is  silently  conscious  of  her  grudge 
all  the  while. 

"Here — come  in!"  exclaimed  Jack,  almost  per- 
emptorily, and  Hale  swung  his  great,  graceful 
bulk  into  the  room.  "Ware,  close  that  door  I 
Hale,  you're  running  an  awful  chance  coming 
here!  Denby  is  out  after  you  and  every  one  in 
the  place  is  tipped  off." 

"I  know,"  said  Martin  laconically.  "But  I  had 
to  come.  I've  come  for  Polly  Mason." 

"Pol —    But  Miss  Mason  isn't  here !" 

"Yes,  she  is.  She  came  down  here  this  after- 
noon. Fellow  told  me  he'd  seen  her  coming  into 
the  hotel.  I've  got  to  find  her." 


236  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

He  looked  at  Jack  Radnor  searchingly,  then 
nodded  his  head  as  though  satisfied. 

"I  reckon  you  don't  know  any  more  about  her 
than  I  do,"  he  said. 

"I?"  exclaimed  Radnor,  in  surprise  and  then 
flushed  darkly.  "You  thought " 

"I  didn't  think  anything,"  cut  in  Hale.  "Rad- 
nor, you're  a  white  man.  Help  me  out  in  this. 
I've  got  to  get  Polly." 

Jack  thought  rapidly. 

"If  you  asked  for  my  room,"  he  said  abstract- 
edly. "You  can't  stay  here, — in  my  place,  I 
mean." 

"I  don't  want  to  stay  here,"  Martin  Hale  said, 
interrupting  him  again.  "I  want  to  hunt  for 
her." 

Ware  stood  bewildered,  gazing  first  at  one  man 
and  then  at  the  other.  His  well-oiled  little  world 
was  going  very  rustily  indeed.  He  could  not  un- 
derstand its  gyrations  at  all. 

"I  have  it!"  cried  Radnor,  with  enthusiasm. 
"But  no,"  he  added,  considering,  "it  would  be  too 
risky,  I  suppose." 


MEN  237 

"What?"  Martin,  as  we  know,  was  not  given 
to  wasting  words. 

"It  only  occurred  to  me,"  said  Jack,  "that  if  you 
could  get  into  this  Powder  Dance  we  are  having 
this  evening,  you  could  come  and  go  as  you  liked 
without  being  noticed.  Every  one  will  be  masked 
until  midnight,  and  you  could  probably  locate 
Pol — Miss  Mason  before  that.  Still,  as  I  say, 
it's  risky." 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Martin,  without  seeming 
to  need  time  for  deliberation.  "I'll  take  a  sport- 
ing chance  anyway.  But  I'll  need  some  clothes." 

He  looked  down  at  his  rough  garments  and 
then  glanced  at  Jack's  unexceptional  evening 
dress. 

"You  know,"  said  Radnor,  "I  think  we're  both 
mad — you  especially!" 

"I  reckon  so — sort  of,"  rejoined  Martin  Hale, 
and  smiled.  But  his  face  was  drawn  and  anxious. 
"You  see,  it's  this  way:  Polly's  father's  sick — 
one  of  his  heart  attacks.  She's  got  to  go  to  him, 
and  I've  got  to  take  her." 

"But — "  Radnor  was  beginning  when  Hale 
stopped  him. 


238  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Hold  on!"  he  said.  "I  know  what  I'm  doing 
— just  exactly — and  I  know  what  it  means  better 
than  you  do.  So  don't  spring  any  'huts'  on  me; 
they're  an  old  story!  If  you  can  help  me,  do  it! 
If  not — "  He  paused,  and  his  steady,  unclouded 
gaze  met  Jack's. 

"I  can  go  to  the  devil?"  supplemented  the  lat- 
ter, but  he  was  already  tingling  from  the  force 
of  the  other's  persuasions  and  personality. 

"Something  like  that!"  agreed  Martin  Hale, 
nodding.  "I'll  manage  it  somehow  anyway.  Only 
this  will  be  the  squarest  way." 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  looked  at  each 
other.  Then  Radnor  said,  flushing  darkly  with 
understanding  and  masculine  appreciation: 

"By  the  Lord,  you're  a  sport!  Come  on,  man! 
I'll  find  you  the  war  paint,  and  then — the  game's 
up  to  you!  Only — remember  you  can't  duck  me 
at  the  finish!  I'm  in  with  you  to  the  last  lap!" 

And  he  gripped  the  hand  of  the  man  whom  he 
had  been  yearning  to  murder  but  a  short  half  hour 
before.  It  is  also  a  fact,  curious  but  unquestion- 
able, that  for  that  moment,  much  as  he  loved 
Enid,  he  had  forgotten  her  very  existence ! 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AT  THE  POWDER  DANCE 

.    .    .    My  mind  misgives 
Some  consequence,  yet  hanging  in  the  stars, 
Shall  bitterly  begin  his  fearful  date 
With  this  night's  revels.    .    .    . 

— SHAKESPEARE. 

FT  was  a  Cotillon  Poudre,  which  meant  that 
the  women  dressed  in  powder  and  patches 
uniformly  and  the  men  did  what  they  liked. 
There  were  five  or  six  golf  coats — hunting  pink 
was  taboo  because  the  shade  clashed  with  the 
cruder  scarlet  of  the  golf  club.  Here  and  there 
a  venturesome  male  sported  a  domino  or  some 
vague  attempt  at  a  costume.  But  the  girls  were, 
one  and  all,  arrayed  in  fluffy,  pale-colored  frocks, 
with  their  piled  hair  full  of  starch  and  court- 
plaster  planted  at  alluring  distances  over  their 
faces  and  shoulders. 


240  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

The  favor  table  was  piled  high  with  dainty 
trifles — most  of  them  made  by  the  women  most 
concerned  in  the  Cotillon.  There  were  masks 
and  snuff-boxes,  tall  canes  and  flower  baskets,  and 
— a  pretty  innovation  started  by  Enid  in  the  first 
place — wee  lanterns  by  which  each  dancer  could 
find  his  or  her  partner. 

The  table  was  presided  over  by  five  of  the 
smartest  women  of  the  Smart  Eastern  Set.  When 
Radnor  led  Martin  into  a  side  apartment  opening 
into  the  main  ballroom,  it  was  introducing  him 
to  an  atmosphere  which  many  social  climbers  had 
longed  to  breathe  in  vain. 

The  ballroom  at  the  Casino  was  very  charming 
that  night.  It  was  not  a  general  dance:  a  small 
committee  of  select  dowagers  had  gotten  it  up  and 
blue-penciled  the  invitations.  As  Warm  Sulphur 
Springs,  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  is  almost 
as  smart  as  Newport,  Tuxedo  and  Aiken  com- 
bined,  an  exclusive  party  meant  not  a  few  heart- 
burnings. 

Persons  counting  on  the  lalsser-faire  of  the 
average  summer  resort  and  reckoning  the  Casino 
to  be  a  democratic  and  universal  possession  were 


AT  THE  POWDER  DANCE        241 

outraged  to  find  that  for  one  evening,  once  in  a 
while  it  was  as  hard  to  enter  as  the  Celestial 
Gates. 

Martin  Hale  and  Jack  Radnor  passed  the  re- 
ceiving ladies,  and  Hale's  bow  was  as  deep  and 
as  courtly  as  the  others.  He  carried  his  borrowed 
plumes  with  an  air  which  was  a  never  ceasing 
surprise  to  Radnor  and  the  two  or  three  other 
men  who  were  in  the  secret.  Fitting  him  out  had 
been  no  easy  task.  Jack's  own  things  were  out 
of  the  question,  for  Martin  bulked  obviously 
larger  than  did  he,  so  he  had  sought  out  Ted 
Meredith,  ex-football  star  and  amateur  fighter, 
and  justly  proud  of  his  depth  of  chest,  breadth  of 
shoulder,  and  length  of  limb.  He  was  somewhat 
chagrined  to  find  that  his  evening  clothes  could 
only  be  put  upon  the  frame  of  the  big  mountain 
fellow  at  the  imminent  risk  of  bursting  out  at 
every  seam.  Eventually  Nicholas  Wayne  rose  to 
the  emergency — a  stolid  young  giant,  with  a  huge, 
though  not  particularly  athletic  body.  What 
Nick  had  in  superfluous  flesh  Hale  made  up  in 
hard  muscle,  and  the  suit  did  well  enough.  The 
effect  was  excellent — indeed,  Jack  feared  it  was 


242  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

too  noticeably  so,  for  no  one  could  have  failed 
to  look  twice  at  the  big,  easily  moving  figure  with 
the  tawny  shock  of  hair.  That  there  would  be 
many  conjectures  as  to  his  identity  was  unavoid- 
able. They  could  only  hope  that  Hale  would  find 
Polly  as  early  in  the  evening  as  possible  and  dis- 
appear with  her  before  he  was  discovered. 

Jack  looked  anxiously  about  for  Ralph  Denby, 
but  could  see  no  signs  of  him.  With  Hale  he 
moved  on  past  the  favor  table  under  the  luminous 
softness  of  the  colored  electric  lights. 

"Who  is  that?"  demanded  Martin,  and  Jack 
felt  the  shoulder  under  his  friendly  hand  stiffen 
to  iron.  He  could  not  follow  the  other's  gaze, 
because  of  the  mask,  but  vaguely  he  turned  in  the 
direction  toward  which  Hale  was  fronting.  Im- 
mediately he  noted  the  tall  figure,  the  black  hair, 
the  rose-red  dress,  and  remembered  what  Enid 
had  told  him'  about  the  prospective  costumes  for 
the  evening. 

"That's  Alice  Baker,"  he  said  at  once,  but  even 
as  he  spoke  he  doubted  his  own  statement.    Martin 
put  the  doubt  into  words  by  returning  swiftly: 
•      "That?    Never  I    That's  Polly  Mason!" 


AT  THE  POWDER  DANCE       243 

"You're  crazy!"  said  Jack  for  the  second  time 
that  night. 

This  time  the  mountaineer  was  less  amiable 
about  it. 

"If  that's  not  Polly,  then  I  am  crazy!"  he  said 
bluntly  and  stood  still,  stiffly  at  attention,  watching 
the  tall,  masked  girl  in  the  rose-red  frock. 

Puzzled  and  fascinated,  Radnor  watched  her, 
too.  It  was  quite  true  that,  like  as  she  was  to 
Enid's  friend,  in  stature,  dress  and  coloring,  she 
was  quite  different  in  some  obscure  way  hard  to 
define.  Her  black  hair  was  piled  high  on  her 
proudly  held  head  with  no  sprinkling  of  white. 
That,  in  itself,  would  be  like  Miss  Baker.  She 
was  erratic  and  would  doubtless,  at  a  Powder 
Dance,  choose  to  be  a  shining,  unpowdered  ex- 
ception ! 

Yet  the  puzzle  lingered.  Alice  was  of  naturally 
erect  and  free  carriage,  her  figure  was  full  and 
beautiful,  she  moved  with  ease  and  grace  and 
energy.  But  here  was — something  more.  The 
black-haired  woman  who  glided  in  stately  yet  sinu- 
ous fashion  down  the  alley-way  of  palms  was  to 
Alice  Baker  what  the  moon  is  to  the  arc  light. 


244  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Not  that  Alke  was  artificial,  but  this  was  reality 
itself,  personified,  incarnate.  It  seemed  to  Jack 
Radnor  that  he  had  never  seen  complete  natural 
freedom  and  beauty  wedded  to  utter  dignity  and 
grace  in  all  his  life.  Then  his  mind  leaped  back 
to  the  trail  on  the  Ridge, — to  Malone's  shadowed 
cabin.  .  .  .  Yes,  she  had  moved  like  that!  But 
where  had  she  learned  this  added  subtle  queenli- 
ness  and  ease?  Was  it  part  of  her  gown,  her 
setting?  Was  it  merely  her  wonderful  adapta- 
bility, or  was  it  that  for  the  first  time  she  found 
herself  in  the  environment  which  best  brought  out 
her  points,  her  finest  values?  At  all  events,  there 
was  no  longer  any  doubt  in  his  brain  as  to  her 
identity. 

"It's  Miss  Mason  all  right,"  he  said  simply  to 
Hale.  "I  don't  know  where  Alice  is,  nor  what  it 
all  means,  but — it's  so !  Do  you  want  me  to  tell 
her  you're  here?" 

Hale  nodded,  then  drew  a  quick  breath  and 
shook  his  head.  His  outstretched  hand  fell  on 
Radnor's  arm. 

"Just  a  moment!"  he  muttered.  "I  want  to 
look  at  her !  She — she's  very  beautiful,  isn't  she  ?" 


AT  THE  POWDER  DANCE        245 

The  words  wer^  a  question,  as  though  he 
feared  to  trust  his  own  vision.  It  was  an  odd 
question,  too:  a  woman  masked,  and  to  call  her 
beautiful.  .  .  .  Yet,  gazing  also,  Jack  understood. 
There  was  very  real  beauty  in  this  masked  woman 
— a  beauty  not  merely  of  well-proportioned  lines 
and  curves  and  values,  but  a  beauty  of  inherent 
personality,  which  made  each  slightest  gesture  of 
hers  a  symphony,  each  step  a  step  in  a  sort  of 
gently  regal  progress. 

Suddenly  Martin  started  forward. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  said  Jack.  "Wait,  and 
I'll  get  her  to  come  to  speak  to  you  where  people 
won't " 

"Wait!  Not  fof  a  moment!"  Hale  strode 
straight  to  the  side  of  the  rose-hued  figure  and 
caught  her  hand  in  his.  Jack  saw  her  start  and 
her  other  hand  go  to  her  breast.  And  even  as 
he  saw  that,  he  saw  something  far  more  disquiet- 
ing,— the  form  of  Ralph  Denby  standing  in  one 
of  the  open  doorways.  He  was  adjusting  his 
mask,  according  to  the  rules  of  the  ballroom,  but 
Jack  knew  him  and  his  heart  sank. 

For  only  a  moment  Ralph  Denby  stood  motion- 


246  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

less,  looking  fixedly  at  the  b'j-  sunny-haired  man 
beside  the  girl  in  the  rose-red  dress.  Then  he 
walked  quickly  up  to  him  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"Martin  Hale!"  he  said  sharply. 

There  was  a  little  stir  of  excitement.  Many 
of  the  people  present  had  heard  of  the  man  whom 
the  Denbys  and  Sheriff  Heaton  were  trying  to 
trap.  The  general  impression  was  that  he  was  a 
sort  of  bandit.  Was  it  possible  that  this  large, 
composed  individual  standing  so  imperturbably 
there  in  their  flower-decked  ballroom  was  the 
same  desperate  character  who  had  led  the  hold-up 
on  the  Millionaires'  Local? 

Jack  sprang  forward.  "Hold  on  a  moment, 
Ralph!"  he  began. 

The  girl  in  the  rose-red  dress  was  panting  hur- 
riedly, more,  it  seemed,  in  excitement  than  fear. 

"How  do  you-all  know  he's  Martin  Hale?"  she 
cried,  in  a  warm  contralto  voice  unwontedly 
quickened  by  emotion.  "He's  masked." 

"And  no  one  unmasks  until  midnight  I"  said 
Jack,  grasping  young  Denby's  arm.  "Be  a  sport, 
Ralph!" 


AT  THE  POWDER  DANCE        247 

"I  tell  you  I  know — "  began  Ralph  hotly. 

But  the  big  man  in  the  mask  was  speaking.  His 
slow,  indolent  words  carried  to  every  ear  there. 

"I'm  not  telling  who  I  am  just  at  present,"  he 
said.  "You-all  can  make  out  I'm  one  person  or 
another.  Suit  yourself.  But  I've  got  something 
to  say  before  you  fix  on  who  I  am.  I  came  here 
to-night  taking  right  much  of  a  chance " 

"I  told  you!"  broke  in  Ralph. 

"Wait!"  muttered  Jack  Radnor. 

The  quiet  voice  continued : 

"I  came  here,  taking  the  chance  of  losing  a 
whole  lot  of  things  folks  like  to  hang  on  to — 
my  liberty,  for  instance." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  he  turned  to  the 
girl  beside  him  and  with  infinite  gentleness  drew 
her  hand  within  his  arm.  Then  he  addressed  the 
whole  ballroom. 

"This  lady's  father's  right  ill, — dying,  maybe" 
— a  choking  cry  came  from  her  lips  and  he  patted 
her  hand — "and  so  I — well,  I  just  came  to  fetch 
her,  that's  all.  I  want  to  see  her  safe  with  her 
father,  and  then — "  He  swung  back  to  Ralph 
Denby,  and  his  voice  came  with  a  quicker,  harder 


248  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

cadence,  "Then  I'll  come  back  here  and  unmask 
at  midnight  when  the  rest  do!" 

There  was  a  second's  breathless  pause  and  then 
one  of  the  men  gave  an  irrepressible  cheer.  It 
was  caught  up  by  dozens  and  the  ballroom  rang. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  the  masked  stranger  to  Ralph, 
"do  you-all  ask  me  unmask?" 

Ralph  turned  away. 

"At  midnight,  with  the  rest,"  he  said  briefly. 

"I  thank  you-all,  sir." 

The  tawny-haired  man  and  the  girl  in  the  rose- 
red  dress  walked  out  of  the  ballroom.  Jack  went 
with  them.  Just  outside  he  held  out  his  hand 
to  Hale,  without  a  word.  Their  fingers  met  and 
clasped  hard.  To  Polly,  Radnor  said: 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Mason.  My  congratulations. 
He's  the  finest  gentleman  and  the  best  sport  I 
ever  knew." 

And  Polly,  crying  and  clinging  to  her  lover's 
arm,  knew  that  it  was  true.  Whatever  trouble 
might  come  now,  she  had  found  herself. 

"Good-bye  until  midnight!"  said  Martin  Hale 
to  Radnor,  and  went  away  into  the  darkness  with 
the  rose-red  gown  glimmering  beside  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ELECTRIC  LIGHT  AND  LIGHTNING 

Then  dress,  then  dinner,  then  awakes  the  world ! 
Then  glare  the  lamps.     .     .    . 

Thrice  happy  he  who,  after  a  survey 

Of  the  good  company,  can  win  a  corner, 

And  look  on  as  a  mourner,  or  a  scorner, 
Or  an   approver,   or  a  mere  spectator, 
Yawning  a  little  as  the  night  grows  later. 

— LORD  BYRON. 

~O  ADNOR  stood  a  moment  staring  after  them. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  how  they  were  going  to  get  up  the 
mountain;  then  he  laughed  as  he  told  himself  that 
Martin  Hale  was  not  likely  to  have  neglected 
arrangements  or  preparations  of  any  kind. 

The  rustle  of  a  skirt  beside  him  made  his  heart 
leap.     For   the   first  time   in   over  an  hour  he 

249 


250  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

thought  of  Enid  and  turned  eagerly  in  the  hope 
that  it  might  be  she.  But  it  was  Alice  Baker, 
not  in  costume  but  ordinary  evening  dress,  with 
her  mask  dangling  from  her  wrist. 

"I  heard  it  all!"  she  whispered  excitedly,  "and 
I  think  it's  just  perfectly  thrilling.  What  a  stun- 
ning couple  they  are!  Is  he  as  handsome  un- 
masked as — Enid  says?"  she  ended  with  malice. 

"Quite,  I  fancy,"  said  Jack,  suppressing  a  desire 
to  box  her  ears.  "Where  on  earth  is  Enid,  any- 
way?" ' 

Alice  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "Don't 
you  know?"  she  asked.  "I  thought,  of  course,  she 
was  with  you." 

"I!  No:  I've  been  too  busy  stage-managing 
Hale  even  to  look  her  up.  I  supposed  she  was 
late,  that's  all." 

"And  I  supposed  that  she  had  sneaked  off  to 
a  corner  of  the  veranda,  the  way  I  did,  so  that 
her  best  young  man  could  come  and  talk  to  her 
undisturbed." 

"Isn't  she  with  her  mother  ?",.  demanded  Rad- 
nor, a  little  more  anxiously. 

"No:  Mrs.  Forsythe  is  at  the  favor  table,  and 


ELECTRIC  LIGHT  AND  LIGHTNING  251 

she  is  looking  all  over  for  Enid.  Peep  through 
the  window  and  you  can  see  her." 

Jack  took  a  frowning  survey  of  Enid's  mother, 
who  sat  at  the  long  table  of  pretty  many-hued 
trifles,  the  picture  of  incarnate  restlessness  and 
worry — properly  subdued  for  the  occasion. 

"And"  proceeded  Alice  irrelevantly,  "that  girl, 
that  raving  beauty  from  the  top  of  nowhere,  has 
gone  off  with  my  dress!" 

"She'll  return  it,"  said  Jack  absently.  He  was 
thinking  of  Enid  with  more  and  more  concern. 

"Return  it!"  repeated  Miss  Baker  with  scorn. 
"And  what  will  there  be  left  to  return,  I  ask  you, 
after  this  storm?" 

Jack  started. 

"I  believe  it  is  going  to  rain,"  he  said,  noticing 
the  change  in  the  air  for  the  first  time. 

"He  believes  it  is  going  to  rain,"  repeated 
Alice,  with  open  disdain.  "My  dear  man,  the 
storm  has  been  growling  and  spitting  like  a  wild 
cat  for  half  an  hour.  Listen!" 

Low  and  sullen  the  echo  of  the  thunder  came 
to  them  through  the  thick,  damp  night.  It  was 
indeed  not  unlike  the  snarling  growl  of  some  wild 


25 2  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

beast  chained  far  away,  yet  straining  to  break  its 
fetters.  The  sky  was  black  and  close.  The  smell 
of  the  rain  was  in  the  air.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
it  had  been  raining  for  some  time  on  the  moun- 
tain ridge  less  than  two  miles  from  where  they 
stood. 

"I  wonder — "  Alice  was  beginning,  when  a 
step  checked  her. 

"Well,  young  people !  Have  you  been  playing 
'Change  your  partners?'  Where  is  my  boy,  and 
where  is  my  little  friend  Miss  Enid?" 

Judge  Denby,  carefully  dressed  and  groomed, 
and  the  picture  of  courtly,  urbane,  middle-aged 
dignity,  stood  beside  them. 

"You  will  forgive  this?"  he  said,  indicating  his 
cigar.  "I  just  came  down  from  the  hotel  and 
wanted  a  breath  of  air  before  I  went  into  that 
very  attractive,  but  exceedingly  warm-looking, 
ballroom.  It  is  going  to  be  a  big  storm,  Radnor." 

"I'm  afraid  so,"  said  Jack,  thinking  of  Hale 
and  Polly  on  the  trail.  Lucky  for  him  that  he 
did  not  know  Enid  was  out  there,  too,  somewhere 
in  the  rain-threatened  night! 

"There  is  always  something  exhilarating  to  me 


ELECTRIC  LIGHT  AND  LIGHTNING  253 

in  these  mountain  storms,"  said  the  Judge,  puffing 
comfortably.  "They  are  so  huge,  so  dynamic  that 
they  soothe  one.  One's  very  helplessness  becomes 
restful — one's  own  small  violences  become  as 
nothing  compared  with  the  great  passions  of  the 
elements." 

"If  you'll  both  excuse  me,"  said  Alice  Baker, 
abruptly,  "I'll  go  to  look  again  for  Enid." 

She  slipped  away  quickly,  and  the  Judge  offered 
Jack  his  cigar  case. 

"Thanks,  not  now.  Hello!  That  was  a  flash 
and  no  mistake!" 

The  storm  held  its  breath,  as  it  were,  for  a 
space.  You  might  have  fancied  that  it  did  so 
viciously,  taunting  the  apprehensive  earth  as  an 
animal  tortures  its  prey,  or  as  a  savage  postpones 
the  sacrifice  hour  by  hour  to  prolong  his  victim's 
fears. 

The  music  from  the  ballroom,  gay  and  sweet 
and  seductive,  drowned  the  snarl  of  the  thunder, 
drowned  the  thud  of  the  first  heavy  drops  upon 
the  roof.  But  a  gust  of  wind  blew  boisterously 
in  at  one  of  the  open  windows  and  scattered  a 
score  of  dainty  favors.  The  next  blaze  of  light- 


254        MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

ning  was  so  close  and  so  vivid  that  they  could 
notice  it  even  in  the  brightly  lighted  ballroom.  A 
wild  rush  of  rain  drove  the  Judge  and  Radnor 
close  to  the  wall  of  the  Casino.  In  a  moment  the 
veranda  was  wet  to  within  a  foot  of  where  they 
stood.  The  big  trees  about  the  Casino  were  sigh- 
ing in  great  moaning  gasps.  Their  bending  leaf- 
loaded  branches  showed  in  the  light  that  streamed 
from  the  windows.  Some  Japanese  lanterns 
strung  up  for  the  occasion  blew  down  and  went 
scuttling  off  upon  the  wet  gale. 

"Well,"  said  Radnor,  "you  may  like  moun- 
tain storms,  Judge,  but  I  always  have  a  queer 
feeling  of  being  up  before  the  Judgm'ent  Seat 
when  I  strike  a  peach  of  a  one  like  this.  I'd 
hate  to  have  any  very  black  crime  on  my  soul 
and  face  that  lightning!" 

He  laughed,  but  the  Judge  did  not  laugh. 
Rather  a  strange  look  came  over  his  face. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  said,  half  mus- 
ingly. "What  made  you  think  of  it — now?" 

Jack  laughed  again.  "I  haven't  the  faintest 
idea !  I  was  thinking  that  wickedness  might  serve 
as  a  kind  of  lightning  conductor " 


ELECTRIC  LIGHT  AND  LIGHTNING  255 

"The — the  rain  is  growing  a  little  too  much  for 
a  rheumatic  old  man,"  interrupted  Judge  Denby 
brusquely.  "I'm  going  inside." 

That  evening  was  one  which  Jack  Radnor  never 
forgot.  Enid  could  not  be  found.  No  one  had 
seen  her;  no  one  knew  even  where — or  whether — 
she  had  dined.  Mrs.  Forsythe  and  Alice  had  each 
believed  her  to  be  with  the  other.  And  yet  the 
mother  still  had  to  smile  and  give  out  favors 
and  talk  platitudes  with  her  associate  matrons, 
and  Jack  Radnor  had  to  dance  with  the  girls  who 
hadn't  enough  partners  or  whose  mothers  had 
asked  him  to  week-ends  and  yachting  cruises. 
And  the  storm  raged  with  increasing  fury  outside 
so  that  the  roar  of  the  rain  upon  the  earth  could 
now  be  heard  persistently  through  all  the  charm- 
ing rhythms  of  the  dances.  The  electric  lights 
failed  once,  and  there  was  a  faint  panic  until  two 
dripping  electricians  came  to  the  rescue.  The 
thunder  sounded,  as  one  girl  said  shakily,  "like 
the  ghosts  of  the  big  guns  of  the  Civil  War  come 
back  to  haunt  the  place!"  A  general  sense  of 
nervousness  seemed  to  pervade  the  dance.  The 
laughter  was  a  bit  forced,  and  when  a  great  glare 


256  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

of  blue  would  pour  blindingly  in  through  a  win- 
dow, women  would  shrink  and  gasp  a  little. 
Judge  Denby  even  was  not  so  debonnair  as  usual. 
His  handsome,  florid  face  was  somewhat  paler 
than  its  wont,  and  he  talked  less, — and  less 
oratorically. 

As  for  Jack,  whether  he  danced  or  talked,  sat 
out  or  purveyed  refreshments,  he  was  in  a  sort  of 
daze  of  unreality.  It  seemed  like  a  fantastic 
dream ;  as  if  all  of  them  were  actors  in  the  night- 
marish play  of  a  madman.  Once  in  a  while  his 
eyes  met  those  of  Mrs.  Forsythe,  and  in  both  was 
the  same  mute  question.  Jack  told  himself  that 
this  anxiety  was  foolish.  Enid  had  other  friends 
in  the  Homestead  Hotel,  who  had  not  come  to 
the  dance.  She  might  have  decided  at  the  last 
moment  to  spend  the  evening  with  any  one  of 
them.  She  was  extremely  independent  and  er- 
ratic in  her  actions,  and  often  even  her  mother 
had  not  the  faintest  idea  where  to  look  for  her. 
Still 

Another  thing  gave  the  evening  an  element  of 
subdued  excitement.  Every  one  was  wondering 
if  Martin  Hale  would  return,  as  he  had  promised, 


ELECTRIC  LIGHT  AND  LIGHTNING  257 

before  the  time  came  to  unmask.  As  the  time 
drew  on  toward  midnight  people  looked  often  at 
the  door.  Radnor  found  himself  with  his  watch 
in  his  hand  every  two  minutes.  Hale  could,  of 
course,  make  it  if  he  had  good  horses,  but  it 
would  be  hard  going.  .  .  . 

Twelve  o'clock,  and  the  unmasking  had  begun. 
Outside  was  by  this  time  a  solid  wall  of  roaring 
rain  that  shut  them  in  as  though  their  gay  little 
Casino  were  a  prison. 

"What  preposterous  tale  is  this,"  said  Judge 
Denby  to  Jack,  "about  that  ruffian  Hale  coming 
here  and  getting  away  again  with  some  cock-and- 
bull  promise  of  coming  back?  Really,  I  am 
deeply  annoyed  with  Ralph!" 

"Are  you?"  said  Jack,  in  an  odd  tone.  "Look 
there!" 

A  man,  streaming  with  rain  water,  stood  in  the 
doorway.  He  wore  a  mask,  which  he  removed 
even  as  they  all  gazed  at  him. 

"I  hope  I'm  not  late,"  said  Martin  Hale. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   UNSIGNED  NOTE 

Night,  and  one  single  ridge  of  narrow  path 

.    .     .    The  woods 

Waving  and  muttering,  for  the  moonless  night 
Has  shaped  them  into  images  of  life, 
Like  the  uprising  of  the  giant-ghosts.    .    .    . 

— ROBERT  BROWNING. 

NID  FORSYTHE  soon  discovered  that  a 
mountain  storm  and  a  girl  on  horseback 
are  not  very  evenly  matched.  The  competition 
is  decidedly  unfair.  Blinded  and  deafened  by  the 
rain,  the  lightning,  the  rolling  thunderbolts,  and 
the  mad  gale,  all  increased  a  hundredfold  by  the 
vast  augmenting  mountain  tops,  among  which  she 
rode,  she  was  bent  to  her  pommel,  and  shaken 
with  cold  and  nervousness.  Dauntless  in  spirits 
beyond  most  girls,  she  was,  for  the  time  being, 

258 


THE  UNSIGNED  NOTE          159 

effectually  beaten  by  this  tempest.  And  with  the 
sense  of  helplessness  and  defeat  came  a  sick  reac- 
tion from  the  mood  which  had  sent  her  up  the 
trail  that  night.  What  was  she  doing  here,  what 
good  could  she  be  to  Martin  Hale  or  anybody 
else, — she,  this  poor  wretched,  drenched  piece  of 
feminine  humanity,  drooping  in  her  saddle  and 
wishing  from  the  bottom  of  her  heart  that  she 
had  never  left  the  Valley? 

But  Enid  was  made  of  better  stuff  than  she 
knew.  She  was  not  really  beaten, — only  baffled. 
With  a  fresh  impetus  her  will  and  pluck  would 
spur  her  on  again.  Meanwhile,  all  she  longed 
for  was  a  shelter.  And  she  found  it! 

It  was  Malone's  mountain  shack,  though  she 
did  not  know  that.  When  he  was  there  he  left 
a  big,  draught-proof,  oil  lantern  burning  to  guide 
him  home,  and  it  was  this  yellow  glimmer  wink- 
ing between  the  writhing,  dripping  trees  of  the 
Ridge  that  beckoned  Enid  with  what  at  that  in- 
stant seemed  a  blissful  promise.  Somewhere 
there  was  a  light  and  a  roof,  and  a  respite  from 
the  relentless  winds  that  tore  at  her  with  their 
cruel  fingers.  Sick  with  the  ordeal  of  the  last 


260  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

half  mile  along  the  dreadful  Ridge,  she  guided 
the  horse  toward  the  light,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
more  she  was  in  the  shack. 

No  one  was  there.  Her  first  feeling  was  one 
of  relief.  Then  she  was  sorry  because  she  had 
hoped  to  find  some  man  who  could  look  out  for 
her  horse,  which  had  suffered  nearly  as  much  as 
she.  Then  she  sat  down  on  a  hard  chair,  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands,  and  tried  to  get  her 
breath  and  her  assurance  back  again. 

It  was  there  that  the  Fates  sent  her  the  im- 
petus necessary  to  carry  her  farther  on  her  ad- 
venture. On  the  table  at  her  elbow  was  an  open 
letter  and,  half-unseeing  at  first,  Enid's  eyes 
wandered  to  it. 

The  note  was  in  a  writing  which  she  did  not 
know, — a  very  forcible,  clear  writing,  though  in 
pencil.  Enid  would  not  have  read  it  if  she  had 
not  seen  a  sharp  square  UH"  in  the  middle  of  it. 

"H"  suggested  Hale, — and,  almost  mechani- 
cally, she  read  the  words  that  immediately  fol- 
lowed :  "He  has  been  unmanageable  lately" 

Then  quite  deliberately  and  with  no  qualms  of 
conscience  she  went  back  and  deciphered  the  whole 


THE  UNSIGNED  NOTE  261 

letter.  It  ran:  "Make  it  on  the  27 th.  Word, 
Mountain  Laurel.  Look  out  for  H.  He  has 
been  unmanageable  lately.  If  necessary,  fix  things 
on  him.  He'd  be  safer  in  jail." 

There  was  no  apparent  identity.  Whoever  had 
written  those  nonchalant  and  unscrupulous  sen- 
tences knew  that  he  spoke  with  authority,  and 
that  his  briefest  scribbled  word  would  be  recog- 
nized, understood,  and  obeyed. 

So  this  was  what  it  all  meant!  They  were 
"fixing  things"  on  Martin  Hale,  because  he  had 
become  "unmanageable"  and  would  be  "safer  in 
jail!"  Enid  had  never  heard  the  expression 
"frame  up,"  but  she  grasped  the  significance  of 
that  curt,  hasty  note  only  too  well.  Her  blood 
burned  in  her  veins,  with  indignation  and  defiance. 
So  they  were  trying  to  do  that?  Well,  they 
shouldn't!  They  shouldn't!  She  would  die  first. 
The  man  who  wrote  that  note  should  be  exposed 
if  it  took  her  final  breath,  and  her  last  ounce  of 
energy. 

She  flung  open  the  cabin  door,  all  forgetful  of 
the  weather  which  had  driven  her  to  this  strange 
shelter.  But  she  was  forced  to  stagger  back 


262  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

against  the  fury  of  the  wind  and  rain  which 
assaulted  her.  For  a  moment,  clinging  to  the 
door,  she  felt  hopeless  and  desperate.  Even  the 
elements  were  against  her.  Then,  breathing  hard, 
but  thinking  steadily,  she  made  up  her  mind.  This 
storm  might  rage  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  It 
would  doubtless  be  succeeded  by  days  of  heavy, 
unremitting  rain.  She  knew  by  experience  that 
at  times  weeks  of  black  weather  were  in  the  moun- 
tains. In  that  case,  there  would  be  washouts 
and  landslides  and  the  trails  would  bernrr>e  steadily 
more  difficult  to  travel.  Places  that  were  now 
only  risky  would  soon  be  dangerous — if  not  im- 
passable. The  fords  around  the  foot  of  the  hills 
would  be  rivers;  half  the  narrower  paths  would 
be  washed  away.  Therefore,  if  she  was  to  get 
to  the  Valley  with  the  mysterious  document  that 
would  seem  to  clear  Hale  and  incriminate  another 
man,  she  would  lose  and  not  gain  by  waiting. 

She  knew  that  the  high  Ridge  Trail  was  per- 
fectly safe,  however  terrifying  to  follow  in  this 
tempest. 

She  must  ride  up  to  it,  then  go  not  south  but 
north, — toward  the  Toll  Gate.  Then,  if  the 


THE  UNSIGNED  NOTE  263 

lower  road  had  already  become  treacherous,  she 
would  have  to  walk  down  to  Warm  Sulphur 
Springs,  and  hire  some  sort  of  trap  to  drive  her 
over  to  the  Homestead.  This  was  a  perfectly 
good  plan.  There  was,  indeed,  only  one  thing 
against  it, — a  thing  which  she  was  to  discover  in 
a  minute  or  so. 

Closing  the  door  she  seriously  prepared  for 
her  undertaking.  She  thanked  Heaven  that  she 
wore  a  safety  habit  easily  detached.  She  dropped 
it  off,  and  stood  a  slim,  boyish  figure  in  high  boots 
and  knickers,  which  she  wore  under  her  riding 
skirt.  She  discarded  her  long  coat,  too;  it  was 
clumsy,  and  as  she  was  certain  to  get  drenched 
anyway  it  didn't  make  much  difference  whether 
it  was  through  whipcord  or  linen  shirtwaist.  Her 
hat  she  then  flung  aside,  and  her  heavy  gloves. 
She  had  the  paper  in  the  bosom  of  her  blouse, 
taking  the  precaution  to  wrap  it  first  in  one  of 
the  gloves,  as  a  protection  against  the  wet. 

Then  dressed  as  "light"  as  she  reasonably 
could  be,  carrying  only  her  slender  crop,  she 
boldly  opened  the  door  again  and,  staggering  a 
bit  from  the  force  of  the  gale,  went  boldly  out 


264  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

to  where  her  horse  was  fastened.  But  it  was 
then  that  Fate  played  upon  her  one  of  her  most 
unfriendly  tricks.  Just  as  she  swung  herself  into 
the  dripping  saddle,  a  fresh  access  of  tempest 
filled  the  heavens  with  flame  and  thunder.  Her 
mount,  just  freed  from  the  hitching-post,  backed 
away  frantic  with  terror,  and  plunged  wildly 
down  the  heavily  wooded  mountainside, — in  pre- 
cisely the  opposite  direction  from  that  which  she 
had  intended  to  take !  She  was  powerless  to  con- 
trol the  beast,  for  he  was  half  crazed  by  the 
lightning  and  thunder.  In  a  moment,  sick  with 
dread  herself,  she  saw  that  she  must  not  stay  on 
his  back.  At  any  moment  she  might  be  thrown, 
dragged  from  her  saddle  by  the  crowding  shrub- 
bery, bruised  against  a  tree.  And,  if  he  kept  up 
this  plunging  gait,  he  would  almost  surely  go 
down.  She  took  a  deep  breath,  kicked  her  foot 
clear  of  the  stirrup,  and  waited  for  the  next  ter- 
rific illuminating  glare  of  lightning. 

Afterwards,  she  could  never  tell  just  how  she 
did  it.  It  always  seemed  to  her  as  though  some 
one  else,  not  herself,  had  actually  experienced  it. 

But,  somehow,  as  the  maddened  horse  struggled 


THE  UNSIGNED  NOTE  265 

downward  through  that  dense  shrubbery,  she  flung 
up  her  arms  and  caught  a  great  overhanging 
branch,  black  against  the  throbbing  purple-blue 
light  that  filled  the  heavens. 

In  another  second,  she  had  drawn  herself  up 
to  safety,  and  sat  clinging  and  gasping  there  while 
her  horse  crashed  away  from  her  in  the  tempest 
and  the  dark. 

The  branch  to  which  she  was  clinging  swayed 
and  shook  in  the  high  wind.  In  the  intermittent 
lightning  she  took  in  the  outlook.  Just  beneath 
her  was, — oh,  thank  Heaven !  she  had  not  been 
it  before! — a  deep,  ragged  gulch  as  though  a 
monstrous  handful  had  been  torn  from  the  side 
of  the  living  mountain.  Had  her  horse  gone  into 
that?  She  could  not  know,  but  she  grew  dizzy 
as  she  thought  what  she  had  escaped.  Then  she 
began  to  plan  once  more.  She  turned  and  peered 
upward  toward  the  cabin  from  which  she  had 
been  borne  by  the  maddened  horse.  There  was 
the  light  she  had  left  still  faintly  glimmering,  but 
it  looked  tiny  and  far  away.  She  must  have 
plunged  down  a  greater  distance  than  she  had 
guessed.  She  was  debating  with  herself  how  to 


266  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

get  back,  when  something  happened.  It  was  a 
huge  something, — so  unexpected,  so  cataclysmic 
so  sudden  and  horrifying  that  she  did  not  at  first 
know  what  it  was.  She  only  realized  that  the 
jagged  blue  blades  quivering  in  the  dark  above 
her  all  at  once  became  merged  into  one  titan 
weapon  of  destruction,  and  after  one  instant  of 
awful  hesitancy  fell  violently.  Not  upon  her, — 
though  it  at  first  seemed  that  it  was  really  herself 
that  had  been  struck.  The  crash  of  a  great  tree 
just  above  her,  the  blaze  of  a  sharp  flame,  the 
smell  of  smoke,  and  then  the  smitten  tree  fell  like 
a  wounded  giant  in  her  direction.  It  missed  the 
branch  to  which  she  was  holding,  but  threw  its 
mighty  weight  against  the  branch  of  the  tree  it- 
self. She  heard  the  crackle  of  bent  and  breaking 
wood,  felt  herself  flung  forward  still  clinging  to 
the  branch — out  over  the  ragged  black  pit  be- 
low. She  had  no  time  for  terror.  She  clung 
blindly  as  the  tree  fell  and  she  with  it.  But  in- 
stinct working  at  the  last  without  any  conscious 
mental  guidance,  made  her  throw  herself  out  and 
forward,  clearing  the  thud  of  breaking  boughs 
as  they  crashed  to  the  ground.  She  picked  herself 


THE  UNSIGNED  NOTE  267 

up  after  a  few  minutes,  and  at  first  she  thought 
the  storm  had  ceased,  for  she  could  not  hear  any- 
thing just  at  first.  Then  her  senses  came  back 
as  clear  as  ever,  and  she  looked  tremblingly  on  the 
wreck  from  which  she  had  escaped.  The  impos- 
sible had  happened.  The  fallen  tree  had  carried 
her  over  that  impassable  gulch.  It  lay  black  and 
threatening  before  her,  but  she  was  safe  on  the 
other  side !  The  huge  trunk  lay  like  a  bridge  across 
it.  But  she  fled  suddenly.  Another  and  yet  an- 
other crash  told  her  that  more  trees  had  fallen 
between  her  and  the  shack  close  below  the  trail. 
She  stumbled  down  the  mountainside  blindly,  and 
after  a  thousand  years  came  to  a  trail, — a  very 
slight  one  blazed  probably  by  woodcutters  or 
other  mountain  folk.  Along  this  she  flooded  in 
ankle-deep  mud,  heading  as  nearly  as  she  knew 
in  the  general  direction  of  Four  Trail  Crossing. 
But  Nature  who  performs  miracles  on  occasion 
and  gives  us  the  strength  and  temerity  to  do  and 
dare  impossible  things,  eventually  presents  her 
bills.  Enid  had  been  through  just  about  as  much 
as  even  her  last  jot  of  reserve  force  could  stand. 
The  darkness,  the  wildness  of  the  night,  the 


268  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

danger  through  which  she  had  passed,  the  heavy 
going  on  the  trail, — also,  probably,  her  recent 
close  proximity  to  the  tree  which  the  lightning 
had  struck,  all  combined  to  leave  her  in  a  state  of 
helpless  exhaustion, — almost  insensibility.  Slowly 
and  still  more  slowly  she  went  forward,  until  the 
one  great  mercy  overtook  her.  She  staggered  to 
the  comparative  shelter  offered  by  a  great  clump 
of  shrub  oaks,  crawled  under  them,  and  sank  into 
unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  LEARNED  JUDGE 

.    .    .    The  statesman  thus, 

Up  the  steep  road  where  proud   ambition   leads, 
Aspiring,  first  uninterrupted  winds 
His  prosp'rous  way;  nor  fears  miscarriage  foul, 
While  policy  prevails,  and  friends  prove  true: 
But  that  support  soon  failing.     .     .     . 

.    .    .    From  his  airy  height 
Headlong  he  falls    .    .    . 

—  WILLIAM  COWPER. 


>T~^HEY  were  assembled  in  Judge  Denby's 
•*•  library,  and  it  was  a  scant  three-fourths  of 
an  hour  later.  A  trap  had  been  summoned  and 
they  had  driven  through  the  atrophying  down- 
pour to  the  Judge's  house.  A  silence  had 
wrapped  them  in  the  transit.  It  had  seemed  to 
Jack  Radnor  that  the  Judge  had  winced  from 
the  thunder  crashes  and  lightning  flares  now  and 

269 


270  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

again,  but  that  might  easily  have  been  an  impres- 
sion created  by  his  own  overwrought  nerves. 

In  the  quiet  scholarly  library,  with  its  shaded 
reading  lamp  and  rows  of  austerely  bound  works, 
its  heavy  curtains  and  deep  easy-chairs,  the  storm 
was  farther  away  than  in  the  gay  casino.  Here 
a  sort  of  ascetic  yet  epicurean  barrier  had  been 
raised  against  the  rough  things  of  the  world.  The 
powdered  dancers  in  the  ballroom  might  tremble 
at  the  thunderbolts  of  heaven;  Judge  Denby  in 
his  luxurious  study  need  not  even  take  count  of 
them. 

A  certain  nervousness,  or  at  least  illness  of 
ease,  in  the  Judge  which  had  more  than  once  ob- 
truded itself  upon  Jack's  consciousness  during  that 
curious  evening  slipped  from  him  triumphantly 
as  he  entered  his  own  domain.  It  was  as  though 
he  passed  instantly  and  with  a  sort  of  supreme 
relief  and  resolution  into  the  picture  or  harmony 
to  which  he  rightfully  belonged.  The  color  that 
appeared  all  at  once  in  his  pale,  clean-cut  face 
might  have  been  a  rush  of  returning  blood  and 
spirit,  or  the  reflection  of  the  deep-red  portieres. 
Whatever  lent  it,  it  gave  him  again  his  old  win- 


THE  LEARNED  JUDGE  271 

some  air  of  authority  and  benignity  in  one.  He 
glowed,  in  his  sober,  distinguished  fashion,  there 
in  his  characteristic  and  fine-flavored  room. 
Friends  and  enemies  must  have  admired  him  alike. 

Present  were  his  son  Ralph,  Martin  Hale,  the 
prisoner,  old  Sheriff  Heaton,  and  Jack  Radnor. 
It  was  to  be  a  sort  of  informal  inquiry  pending 
the  more  strict  legal  proceedings,  and  it  was 
largely  due  to  Radnor  that  the  Judge  had  con- 
sented to  it.  He  protested  that  it  was  irregular, 
but  consented  under  Jack's  urgency,  to  consider 
the  facts  of  the  case  out  of  court. 

Martin  Hale  was  as  still  as  a  statue.  From 
the  moment  of  his  surrender  and  his  conveyance 
to  the  Denby  house  he  had  said  nothing.  Radnor 
had  a  sense  of  furious  sympathy  with  him.  But 
now — just  to  show  that  men  are  as  unreasonable 
as  women — his  interest  in  Hale  did  not  drown 
his  anxiety  about  Enid.  He  ached  with  the  wild 
yearning  to  know  if  all  was  well  with  her.  It 
never  occurred  to  him  to  think  that  she  had  left 
Warm  Sulphur  Springs.  He  still  flagellated  his 
spirit  by  telling  himself  that  he  was  an  utter  fool 
to  be  so  upset.  But  it  was  nearly  one  o'clock,  and 


272  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

no  one  knew  what  had  come  to  her.  His  frantic 
efforts  to  communicate  with  Augustine,  the  maid, 
had  availed  nothing.  Either  she  was  with  Enid 
wherever  she  was,  or  she  would  not  answer  the 
telephone.  Meanwhile,  they  sat  in  Judge  Denby' s 
study  and  the  storm  poured  past  them  without  like 
a  swollen  river  washing  its  banks  and  all  but 
carrying  them  away. 

No  one  spoke  for  a  minute;  then  the  Judge's 
son  sprang  up  with  an  angry  backward  fling  of 
his  shoulders  and  faced  Martin  Hale. 

"So  you're  a  liar  both  ways!"  exclaimed  Ralph, 
hotly. 

Hale  flushed  darkly  and  his  breathing  was 
labored.  However,  he  controlled  himself  enough 
to  answer  quietly:  "I  don't  lie,  Mr.  Denby." 

Ralph  turned  to  the  Sheriff. 

"This  man  came  to  me  on  the  Ridge,"  he  said, 
indignantly,  "and  gave  me  warning  of  the  train 
robbery.  I  can't  imagine  why  he  did  it,  unless 
he  expected  a  reward  of  some  sort " 

Hale  made  an  angry  movement,  but  again 
checked  himself. 

"Then,"  young  Denby  went  on,  "he  went  into 


THE  LEARNED  JUDGE  273 

the  rotten  shooting  game  himself!  Talk  about 
doubled-dyed  renegades  and  turncoats!" 

"That's  a  lie!"  burst  from  Martin  Hale,  furi- 
ously. "I'm  no  turncoat — to  you  anyway!  I  did 
give  the  hold-up  plot  away,  because  I  thought  it 
was  only  decent.  I  never  told  on  one  of  the  gang, 
and  you  know  it,  but  I  did  warn  you  about  the 
train,  and,  so  far  as  that  went,  I  was  with  you 
and  ready  to  fight  fair  and  square,  though  you 
may  remember  I  wouldn't  pull  a  gun  on  my  old 
crowd.  I've  been  straight  with  you  and  you 
needn't  try  any  frame-up  on  me,  pretending  to 
prove  I  haven't! 

"You've  called  me  a  liar  without  cause.  Now 
I'll  call  you  one  with  cause !  It's  a  lie  that  I  was 
in  that  hold-up,  I  tell  you !  I  wasn't  in  the  Valley 
at  all  that  night !" 

"Save  your  breath,  man,"  Denby  said  con- 
temptuously. "We  know  you  were." 

"You  can't  prove  it!" 

"No?"  Ralph  held  out  the  revolver  with  the 
initials  M.  H.  on  it.  "Isn't  this  your  gun,  Hale?" 

"Sure,"  said  Martin,  "but  I  wasn't  carrying  it 
then.  I  lost  it  early  and " 


274  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"I  had  it,"  Jack  interrupted.  "And  I  suppose 
I  dropped  it  in  the  mix-up." 

Judge  Denby  entered  the  conversation  for  the 
first  time.  His  kindly,  handsome,  almost  un- 
wrinkled  face  was  lighted  by  just  the  suggestion 
of  a  smile. 

"My  dear  Jack,"  he  protested,  "isn't  that  rather 
a  wild  tale?  I  don't  mean — "  he  hastened  to 
add,  "that  I  don't  believe  you  exactly — I  should 
hate  to  have  to  go  so  far  as  that — but — well, 
I'm  afraid  we  must  have  some  proof  other  than 
your  bare  word  that  you  were  carrying  Hale's  re- 
volver." 

"But,"  exclaimed  Radnor,  bewildered,  "Ralph 
knows  that  I  was  armed.  I  was  with  him  that 
night,  and  he  knows  I  shot " 

"But  have  you  no  revolver  of  your  own?"  per- 
sisted the  Judge. 

"Why, — yes,"  admitted  Jack,  utterly  at  sea. 
"Certainly  I  have  one.  But  I  don't  carry  it  about 
with  me  on  afternoon  rides,  though  I  think  I'd 
better  after  this !" 

He  said  the  last  words  laughingly,  but  he  was 
vaguely  troubled.  He  could  not  imagine  why 


THE  LEARNED  JUDGE  275 

Judge  Denby  should  doubt  his  word — should,  it 
seemed,  almost  want  to  doubt  it.  Was  he — it  was 
ridiculous  and  yet  Jack  instinctively  felt  sure  of 
it — trying  to  fix  some  undeserved  blame  upon 
Martin  Hale?  He  looked  at  his  friend,  but 
Ralph  was  scowling  in  a  puzzled  way.  If  Jack 
could  have  known  it,  he  was  just  as  much  at  sea 
as  himself.  "Why  in  thunder,"  young  Denby  was 
thinking,  "should  he  try  to  shield  Hale  like  this?" 
"Judge,"  said  Martin  Hale  earnestly,  "I  was 
angry  a  minute  ago,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  ask 
anything  of  you-all,  but  I  reckon  I  was  kind  of 
selfish.  There — there  are  people  kind  of  looking 
to  me,  Judge,  and  so  I  reckon  I  better  eat  humble 
pie  and  tell  the  truth.  I  was  right  close  in  with 
a  whole  bunch  of  folks  that  you-all  are  after,  but 
a  right  smart  lot  of  'em  weren't  any  worse  than 
I  was."  He  paused,  for  never  in  his  life  had  he 
had  to  talk  as  much  as  he  had  to-night.  "Some 
of  us  went  into  it  for  fun,  and  the  danger,  and 
some  because  we  were  bred  to  it,  and  some  be- 
cause we  were  scared  into  it."  Again  he  paused, 
but  this  time  the  pause  suggested  poignantly  some- 
thing which  he  might  have  said.  What  was  it? 


276  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Come,  come,  my  friend!"  interposed  Judge 
Denby,  not  unkindly,  but  with  a  trace  of  testiness. 
"You  aren't  going  to  pretend  that  you  were  bul- 
lied into  becoming  a  crook!" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Hale  quietly,  meeting  his  eyes, 
"I  don't  reckon  anyone  was  ever  able  to  bully 
me — much — and  I  never  was  a  crook.  But 
there's  a  whole  heap  of  things  that  can  be  said 
between  those  two  facts.  'Tisn't  bullying  for  a 
man  to  find  out  right  soon  where  his  safety  lies; 
and  'tisn't  bullying  to " 

Jack  Radnor  suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet  with 
a  lifted  hand.  The  Judge's  servant  was  talking 
with  someone  just  outside  the  library  door.  The 
sound  of  the  voice  had  a  curious  effect  upon  the 
occupants  of  the  room.  Every  one  there  recog- 
nized it.  When  the  door  opened  they  all  knew 
the  man  they  were  going  to  see.  It  was  Malone. 

Small,  brown,  wizened  and  ugly  he  came  for- 
ward laboriously,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  his  face 
still  seamed  with  lines  of  fretful  pain. 

"Just  came  to  let  you  know,  Judge,"  he  began. 
Then  he  caught  sight  of  Martin  Hale  and  his 
jaw  dropped.  "You've  got  him!"  he  exclaimed. 


THE  LEARNED  JUDGE  277 

Jack  Radnor  felt  the  tingling  excitement  that 
presages  revelations  even  before  one  knows  pre- 
cisely what  they  are  going  to  be.  Here  was 
Malone,  the  outlaw,  the  confederate  of  Mason 
and  Hale  and  the  rest,  coming  to  Judge  Denby's 
house  at  one  in  the  morning  as  though  he  were 
a  detective  reporting  a  case! 

"Malone!"  he  gasped.  "How  on  earth  do  you 
dare  to  come  here?" 

"Why,  didn't  you  know?"  exclaimed  Ralph, 
looking  at  him  in  amazement,  "Malone  is  Father's 
right-hand  man!" 

"Is  that  right?"  said  Jack,  with  an  odd  flutter 
of  his  pulse.  Somehow  a  number  of  things  were 
becoming  plain  to  him.  "Is  that  right,  sir?"  he 
repeated,  looking  at  Judge  Denby. 

The  Judge's  face  was  rather  a  curious  study. 
The  fresh  color  and  pleasant  look  of  it  had  some- 
how disappeared  and  a  mask  looked  at  them  in- 
stead— something  which  obstinately  refused  to 
give  them  a  single  secret. 

Malone  peered  at  him  with  his  little  eyes. 

"It's  right,  isn't  it,  your  Honor?"  he  said  with 


278  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

rather  a  sardonic  intonation.  "If  I'm  not  your 
right-hand  man,  who  is?" 

The  Judge  seemed  to  pull  himself  together 
with  a  big  effort. 

"Malone  is  certainly  in  my  employ,"  he  said, 
but  his  voice  did  not  sound  quite  like  himself. 

"Ah!"  said  old  Heaton.  "Sort  of  private  de- 
tective, eh  Judge?  But  I  guess  he's  double- 
crossed  you."  He  shook  his  head  as  though  in 
regret,  and  lifted  his  awkward,  angular  length 
from  his  chair.  "I'm  afraid  I  have  to  arrest 
him  just  the  same — "  He  produced  a  pair  of 
handcuffs. 

"Judge!"  shrieked  Malone,  "tell  him  that  I'm 
your  man,  in  your  pay !  Tell  him  I  never  double- 
crossed  you !  Tell  him  I " 

"Mr.  Heaton,"  said  Judge  Denby,  perceptibly 
paler,  "I  will  vouch  for  Malone." 

The  Sheriff  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  again 
shook  his  head  very  gently. 

"I  wouldn't  Judge,  if  I  were  you,"  he  said. 
"We've  got  the  goods.  If  I  were  you,  I'd " 

Suddenly  he  stopped.  For  again  there  were 
voices  at  the  door,  women's  voices  this  time  in 


THE  LEARNED  JUDGE  279 

pressing  eagerness  to  enter.  Radnor  recognized 
one  of  those  voices,  and  started  toward  the  door. 
The  Judge's  voice  stopped  him. 

"Just  a  moment,  Radnor!  Mr.  Heaton,  there 
has  been  a — a  bad  mix-up  here." 

"I  think  so,"  said  the  Sheriff,  dryly. 

"And  I  dare  say  that  Justice — "  the  Judge 
gulped — "may  have  miscarried.  I  confess  that  I 
had  my  suspicions  of  Martin  Hale,  but  I  think 
I  may  have  been  wrong.  Suppose  you  let  both 
him  and  Malone  go, — on  the  understanding  that 
the  outlaws  of  the  Ridge  disband?" 

"On  their  word  alone?"  asked  Heaton. 

"Well,"  said  Denby  suavely,  "purely  as  a 
magistrate  and  as  a  disinterested  observer,  I 
should  be  willing  to  take  a  chance  on  them.  / 
will  guarantee  their  word,  Mr.  Heaton!" 

His  magnificent  air  seemed  to  clothe  him  in 
purple  and  gold.  The  Sheriff  stared  at  him  in 
undisguised  admiration.  Then  he  uttered  a 
cryptic  remark: 

"It's  a  good  thing  never  to  leave  your  nerve  be- 
hind you  when  you  go  out — Judge,  what  you  say 
goes!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

MRS.  FORSYTHE  TAKES  A  HAND 

A  conscience  for  his  own  soul,  not  his  realm; 
A  twilight  conscience  lighted  thro'  a  chink.    ... 

—  ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


door  swung  open  and  precipitably  pass- 
ing the  Judge's  protesting  servant,  Mrs. 
Forsythe  hurried  into  the  room,  followed  by  a 
young  woman  who  was  sobbing  hysterically.  She 
was  Augustine,  Enid's  French  maid. 

"Judge  Denby!  Jack!"  faltered  Mrs.  For- 
sythe, who  was  very  white,  but  trying  to  maintain 
some  composure.  "I  had  to  come!  Augustine 
says  —  Augustine  !  Tell  them  !  Stop  crying  and 
tell  them  at  once!" 

The  girl  addressed  herself  to  Jack  Radnor  — 
whom  she  adored  —  and  spoke  with  melodramatic 
gestures  but  evident  sincerity:  "It  is,  Monsieur, 

280 


MRS.  FORSYTHE  TAKES  A  HAND   281 

that  Mademoiselle — Oh,  le  bon  Dieu  guard  her 
— Mademoiselle,  at  the  very  hour  when  they  were 
preparing  for  the  cotillon,  la-bas,  has  done  the 
so  strange  a  thing!" 

Jack  could  have  wrung  her  neck  for  the  delay. 
"For  God's  sake,  what  is  it?"  he  demanded, 
whiter  now  than  Mrs.  Forsythe  herself.  "What 
did  Mademoiselle  do?" 

"She  dressed — Oh,  Monsieur,  but  conceive 
it!  At  that  hour,  and  with  this  storm  coming 
on,  though  it  is  true  that  one  could  not  know  it 
then." 

Jack  groaned  aloud.  Was  the  woman  wound 
up? 

"She  dressed — "  Augustine  could  not  help  a 
dramatic  pause — "in  her  riding  habit!" 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  clamor  of  the 
storm  mocked  them.  Radnor  closed  his  eyes  for 
a  moment,  visualizing  his  Enid,  a  mere  little  atom 
of  precious,  helpless  life,  whirled  about  some- 
where in  that  inferno  of  rain  and  wind.  Only 
for  a  moment.  The  next  he  was  mechanically 
dragging  on  his  raincoat  and  Hale,  he  felt  dully, 
was  helping  him  and  putting  his  cap  into  his  hand. 


282  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"Where?"  he  asked  Augustine,  in  a  sharp  hard 
tone,  very  unlike  his  usual  voice. 

"Not  the  Toll  Gate!"  put  in  Hale,  speaking 
for  the  first  time.  "I  left  there  less  than  two 
hours  ago,  and  she  had  not  reached  there." 

"Where?"  repeated  Jack,  looking  at  Augustine. 
But  Martin's  words  had  brought  fresh  lines  into 
his  face. 

"Ah,  but  Monsieur!  I  do  not  know.  That  is 
what  Mademoiselle  said,  that  if  I  did  not  know 
I  could  not  tell.  She  did  not  want  anyone  to 
know — unless,  she  said,  if  she  should  not  return." 

"But,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Forsythe,  wildly,  "you 
have  known  this  all  the  evening,  Augustine! 
Why, — why  didn't  you  let  us  know  before?  You 
did  not  even  answer  the  telephone!" 

"Ah,  Madame,"  wept  Augustine,  "it  is  the  ton- 
nerre — the  terrible  thunderstorm!  I  always  am 
afraid,  and  I  have  heard  it  is  at  such  times  death 
to  go  to  the  telephone!" 

Jack  did  not  wait  for  anything  further,  but 
dashed  out  into  the  darkness  and  the  trap  that 
was  waiting  for  Mrs.  Forsythe.  In  his  rooms  at 
the  hotel  he  hurriedly  changed  while  he  was  wait- 


MRS.  FORSYTHE  TAKES  A  HAND   283 

ing  for  a  horse  to  be  brought  up  from  the  stable, 
and  Ware  was  more  upset  than  ever  as  he  saw 
the  set  sternness  of  his  master's  face.  Of  course, 
Radnor  knew  now  what  had  happened.  Eni.d 
had  heard  what  young  Denby  had  said  to  him 
about  the  plans  for  Martin  Hale,  and  had  ridden 
off  like  the  headstrong  madcap  she  was  to  carry 
him  a  warning  in  his  mountain  hiding  place. 
What  had  happened  to  her  no  one  could  now  hope 
to  guess.  He  had  sent  the  trap  back  to  Judge 
Denby's  house  for  Mrs.  Forsythe  and  now  left 
a  note  for  her: 

"I  shall  go  first  to  the  Toll  Gate  and  see  if  she 
has  reached  there  yet.  Then  I  shall  search.  Try 
not  to  worry  any  more  than  you  can  help.  J." 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  on  the  back  of  the 
best  horse  they  had  in  the  Warm  Sulphur  Springs 
stable,  galloping  straight  and  hard  on  the  Warm 
Springs  road.  He  knew  that  the  trails  by  this  time 
would  be  practically  impassable,  and  had  no  mind 
to  be  delayed  by  washouts,  so  he  took  the  longer 
way  as  the  surest  means  to  his  end.  As  he  rose 


284  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

he  thought  of  the  amazing  selfishness  of  man- 
kind. He  had  seen  Hale  and  Polly  go  out  into 
the  threatening  storm  with  only  a  passing  thought 
of  their  having  difficulties.  But  Enid  was  another 
matter!  Another?  She  was  all  that  mattered  in 
the  world — even  if,  and  the  thought  did  leave  a 
stab,  she  had  gone  without  a  word  to  warn  an- 
other man.  Fie  wished  that  he  had  asked  Hale 
more  about  the  roads.  It  was  unlike  him,  he 
knew,  to  start  upon  any  enterprise  so  impetuously, 
with  so  little  forethought  and  preparation.  But 
then,  never  before  had  he  faced  anything  like 
this.  The  girl  he  loved,  lost  or  at  least  missing, 
in  a  raging  storm  at  night  among  the  mountain 
ranges  and  for  six — no,  nearly  seven  hours !  The 
fury  of  the  tempest  in  his  own  face  even  in  the 
Valley  suggested  to  him  what  it  must  be  on  the 
Ridge;  the  difficulties  of  keeping  an  easy  seat 
even  for  his  strong  polo-trained  muscles  was  some 
fa'mt  indication  of  what  an  ordeal  it  would  be  for 
a  slender  girl  to  ride  against  such  a  storm.  Every 
time  his  horse  plunged  or  reared  at  a  thunder- 
clap or  a  lightning  flash,  every  time  a  wet  hoof 
slid  stumbling  over  a  wet  stone,  he  had  agon- 


MRS.  FORSYTHE  TAKES  A  HAND   285 

izing  visions  of  Enid  thrown,  or  perhaps  lying 
hurt — who  knows  where,  among  those  cruel  ever- 
lasting hills. 

And  as  he  rode  with  set  teeth  and  a  twisted 
heart,  another  expedition  was  setting  out.  Enid 
was  making,  in  fact,  about  as  much  trouble  as 
is  practicable  for  one  small  maiden. 

When  Jack  had  plunged  out  of  the  room, 
Martin  Hale  had  turned  to  Judge  Denby. 

"Am  I  free  to  go,  sir?" 

The  Judge  nodded.  He  was  sincerely  con- 
cerned, and  now  he  went  to  Mrs.  Forsythe  and 
pressed  her  hand. 

"Dear  lady,"  he  said,  "I  know  how  anxious  you 
are,  but  I  am  sure  unnecessarily  so!  Your 
daughter  is  an  expert  horsewoman,  and " 

"I'm  going,"  said  Hale  at  the  door.  "I'll  take 
the  trail,  for  I  reckon  Radnor  took  the  main 
road  to  get  faster  going.  We  ought  to  find  her 
between  us." 

"I'll  go,  too,"   said  Ralph  Denby. 

They  were  off  in  another  moment 

"Judge  Denby,"  said  Mrs.  Forsythe,  suddenly, 
and  wan  and  pale  as  she  was  there  was  a  fire  in 


286  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

her  eyes  as  vital  as  the  fire  of  youth,  "I  am 
going  after  my  child  myself!" 

"My  dear  lady — "  began  the  Judge,  in  expostu- 
lation. 

"I  am!"  she  declared.  "I  have  suffered  enough 
during  this  dreadful  evening.  I  won't  suffer  half 
so  much  if  I'm  doing  something!" 

"But  you  can't  go  alone!"  Denby  protested. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  was  fastening  her  wrap  with  that 
brilliant  look  still  in  her  golden  eyes — eyes  so  like 
Enid's  own.  She  paused  and  looked  at  the  Judge. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "why  don't  you  go  with 
me?" 

Judge  Denby  stared  at  her,  when  he  walked 
across  the  room  to  his  desk  and  began  to  finger 
some  letters  that  lay  there.  His  hand  seemed 
to  be  trembling. 

Malone  was  still  in  the  room.  He  flashed  his 
beady  eyes  into  the  Judge's  own  and  said: 

"Better  go,  Judge." 

Denby  started,  and  looked  involuntarily  at 
Heaton.  The  latter  slowly  nodded. 

"The  road  beyond  the  Toll  Gate  leads  to 
Middletown,"  he  said,  with  seeming  irrelevance. 


MRS.  FORSYTHE  TAKES  A  HAND   287 

"And  there's  nothing,"  added  Malone,  speak- 
ing also  with  no  apparent  reference  to  anything  in 
particular,  "like  knowing  the  right  time  to  do  a 
thing." 

The  Judge  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of 
them  silently.  Then  he  straightened  up  and  took 
a  deep  breath. 

"I  think  you  are  both  right,"  he  said.  He 
hesitated,  and  added,  "Thank  you,  Heaton." 
And  he  had  never  spoken  with  more  dignity. 
"Mrs.  Forsythe,  I  shall  be  only  too  delighted  to 
accompany  you  to  Four  Trail  Crossing,  to  look 
for  your  daughter." 

He  offered  his  arm  and  they  left  the  room  to- 
gether. The  two  men  inside  looked  at  each  other. 
After  a  minute  Heaton  spoke: 

"No  occasion  for  State's  Evidence,  Malone.  I'd 
rather  have  it  this  way,  I  reckon.  Your  gang's 
busted,  and  I'm  glad — well,  I'm  glad  things 
turned  out  the  way  they  did.  Say!" —  He 
helped  himself  to  one  of  the  Judge's  cigars — 
"he's  a  thoroughbred  all  right!  Have  one  of 
these?  I  reckon  he  won't  be  asking  for  'em  for 
some  time!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ANOTHER   DAWN 

And  round  about  his  home  the  glory 

That  blushed  and  bloomed 
Is  but  a  dim-remembered  story 

Of  the  old  time  entombed. 

— EDGAR  ALLAN  FOB. 

"A-pHERE'S  not  been  such  a  night  here  in  fifteen 
years!"  said  the  keeper  of  the  Toll  Gate. 
He  was  propped  up  with  pillows  in  a  chair 
before  the  fire  and  Polly  crouched  beside  him,  her 
head  against  his  arm.  The  heart  attack  had 
passed:  when  Polly  had  arrived  hours  before  it 
was  already  over — but  he  still  looked  ill  and 
weary.  She  had  not  taken  off  the  rose-red  frock 
lent  her  by  Alice  Baker;  it  was  splashed  and 
muddy  about  the  skirt — even  as  Alice  had  known 
it  would  be !  And  her  heavy  black  hair  loosened 

288 


ANOTHER  DAWN  289 

by  the  long  drive  to  the  Crossing  had  not  been 
put  up  again  but  streamed  like  spilled  ink  upon 
her  shoulders. 

She  shivered  now,  and  pressed  closer  to  her 
father's  shoulder. 

"Listen  to  the  wind!"  she  murmured.  "Seems 
like  it'd  lift  us  straight  off  the  Crossing  and  blow 
us  away,  don't  it,  Dad?" 

A  great  puff  of  smoke  came  down  the  chimney, 
and  the  whole  house  shook.  The  gust,  passing, 
left  a  wail  above  the  roof  like  the  keen  of  a 
banshee. 

"A  wild  night,  a  wild  night !"  muttered  the  Toll- 
keeper.  "What's  the  matter,  honey?" 

For  Polly  was  softly  crying. 

"It's  Martin!"  she  whispered  brokenly.  "Dad, 
how  will  we  know  if  he  comes  out  of  it  all 
right?" 

"He'll  come  out  of  it,"  said  her  father,  with 
odd  confidence.  "Martin  Hale  is  not  going  to 
be  beaten,  anyway  around.  And  if  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  /  can  take  care  of  him." 

"You,  Dad!"  She  drew  back  and  looked  at 
him  in  astonishment. 


29o  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

He  nodded. 

"Yes.  I've  kept  silence  a  long  time,  now.  But 
I  reckon  I  can  talk  if  I  have  to." 

The  leaping  fire  showed  grim  determination 
in  his  face.  She  had  no  idea  what  he  meant,  but 
a  sort  of  comfort  came  to  her.  She  had  abound- 
ing trust  in  her  father.  If  he  said  that  things 
were  coming  out  right,  she  was  sure  that  they 
would. 

"Dad,"  she  said,  very  low,  "it's — it's  lonely 
here  at  the  Toll  Gate,  isn't  it?" 

He  smiled  and  turned  to  look  down  at  her 
face,  rosy  with  something  more  than  the  fire- 
light and  the  reflection  of  the  red  gown. 

"Is  it  all  right  between  you  and  Martin  now, 
honey?"  he  asked. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  her  hand  stole  up  to 
touch  his.  The  Toll  Keeper  nodded  his  head 
wisely. 

"The  trails  get  crossed  now  and  then,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  fire,  "but  we  can  usually  find  our 
own  if  we  keep  our  eyes  open." 

The  clock  struck  three  and  almost  with  the  mo- 
ment of  its  striking  Jack  Radnor  came  into  the 


ANOTHER  DAWN  291 

Toll  Gate  House  without  even  knocking.  He  was 
breathing  hard  and  dripped  rain  like  a  living 
fountain. 

"Enid — Miss  Forsythe?"  he  demanded. 

"Great  heavens,  man,  you  look  as  though  you'd 
been  drowned!"  cried  the  Toll-keeper. 

"Did  she  come  here?"  went  on  Radnor  un- 
heeding. 

The  Masons  both  shook  their  heads.  A  sort 
of  tense  look  in  Jack's  pale  face  gave  way  to  such 
a  reaction  of  discouragement  and  anxiety  that  the 
old  man  hastened  to  add: 

"But  maybe  she  couldn't  have  gotten  here  yet? 
When  did  she  start?" 

"At  seven  o'clock  last  night,"  said  Jack  drearily. 

Polly  suppressed  a  little  cry. 

"Tut!  Tut!"  sympathized  the  Toll-keeper 
soberly.  "That's  bad — and  she  was  headed  for 
Four  Trails,  Mr.  Radnor?" 

"I  don't  know."  Jack  told  the  few  facts  he  did 
know,  and  could  not  help  noting  even  in  that 
moment  of  stress,  that  Polly's  lovely  face  paled 
and  stiffened  when  he  spoke  of  his  conviction  that 
her  errand  had  been  to  warn  Martin  Hale. 


292  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

For  the  rest,  however,  he  and  the  mountain  girl 
could  look  at  each  other  now  without  self-con- 
sciousness. Whatever  mistaken  trails  they  had 
each  been  tempted  along,  both  of  them  were  set 
the  right  way  now.  That  bewitched  hour  in 
Malone's  shack  was  like  a  dream  or  a  memory 
of  some  other  life  and  incarnation. 

Suddenly  Polly  burst  out  with  tears  in  her 
eyes: 

"In  this  rain !  Oh,  Mr.  Radnor,  what  will  she 
do?  What  has  happened  to  her?" 

Jack  winced. 

"That's  what  I'm  going  to  find  out,"  he  said, 
dully  and  turned  to  the  door  once  more. 

"Wait!"  exclaimed  the  Toll-keeper,  sharply. 
"I'm  an  old  man,  Radnor" — it  was  odd  how 
easily  he  dropped  the  respectful  prefix — "and  I 
know  something  of  the  way  to  go  about  the  sort 
of  job  you  have  in  hand.  You  can't  do  it  spent 
and  weak;  and  you  can't  do  it  in  weather  like 
this,  without  changing  horses.  Hold  on  to  your- 
self, man,  and  think — on  her  account,  mind  you: 
not  on  your  own.  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  take 
a  drink — white  liquor  won't  hurt  you  for  once 


ANOTHER  DAWN  293 

in  your  life,  son!  Then  go  out  and  stable  your 
horse  in  my  barn  and  change  your  saddle  to 
mine.  She's  not  a  prize  winner  but  she's  fresh 
and  yours  can't  be  up  to  much  by  this.  Then 
come  back  here,  and  we'll  decide  what  to  do. 
The  storm  is  letting  up  now  and  it  will  begin  to 
be  light  in  half  an  hour.  With  the  dawn,  and 
the  rain  stopped,  and  a  new  horse  and  something 
hot  under  your  belt  you  can  start  out  with  some 
sense  and  hopes  of  finding  her.  Now,  then,  drink 
it  down,  and  do  as  I  say!" 

When  Jack  had  gone  to  the  stable,  the  old  Toll- 
keeper  pulled  himself  out  of  his  chair  with  an 
alert  look  on  his  face. 

"You  aren't  going  to  do  anything  Dad!"  said 
Polly  anxiously.  "Your  heart " 

Her  father  laughed. 

"My  heart  would  break,  Poll,  if  I  sat  still  when 
trouble's  in  the  wind.  You  know  me!  But  no; 
I'm  going  to  behave  myself;  you  needn't  worry. 
Only,  I  can't  sit  still !  I'm  going  out  to  see  when 
the  storm  will  break." 

The  storm  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  already 
broken;  more,  it  had  almost  ceased.  The  last 


294  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

wild  rage  of  it  seemed  to  have  exhausted  its 
vigor.  The  winds  were  trailing  off  in  faint  flur- 
ries. The  rain  was  fine  and  feathery  now  and  a 
fine  gray  light  showed  a  whole  continent  of 
clouds  rolling  away  beneath  the  Crossing.  Light? 
It  seemed  not  yet  light  indeed,  so  much  as  some 
mystic  agent  that  made  things  visible  in  darkness. 
The  dawn  was  on  her  way,  but  so  far  only  the 
misty  veil  of  her  and  her  subtle  perfume  was  all 
of  which  the  world  might  take  cognizance. 

"It's  over,"  said  Richard  Mason,  breathing 
deep  of  the  wonderful  air,  "but  it's  all  but  taken 
the  mountain  away  from  under  us!" 

"I  told  you  it  felt  like  that!"  said  Polly,  coming 
to  his  side.  "Oh,  Dad,  it's — it's  awful,"  she 
gasped. 

The  slope  above  them  leading  to  the  top  of  the 
Ridge  was  a  roaring  torrent.  They  could  see  the 
gleam  and  hear  the  noise  of  it.  On  one  side  of 
the  Toll  Gate  House  a  vast  gulley  had  been 
washed  almost  to  the  very  walls.  The  roads 
both  ways  were  well  nigh  obliterated.  Trees  on 
every  side — those  small  yet  tough  trees  that  grow 
on  mountain  tops — had  been  wrenched  from  the 


ANOTHER  DAWN  295 

streaming  earth  and  lay  prone  and  shattered  or 
toppled  limply  with  leaf-stripped  branches.  A 
tidal  wave  could  scarcely  have  worked  more 
havoc. 

The  dawn  came  more  quickly  now,  as  is  its 
wont  in  summer  after  that  first  hesitating  awaken- 
ing. The  horizon  was  suddenly  splashed  with 
greenish  silver  and  a  cold  pale  light  crept  out 
over  the  trumbled  chaos  of  retreating  rain  clouds. 

Jack  Radnor  came  out  of  the  stable  leading 
Mason's  brown  mare,  saddled. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "I  am  going  to  start 
back  along  the  Ridge,  and  stop  at  Malone's  shack. 
She  might  have  taken  shelter  there." 

Mason  looked  doubtfully  up  at  the  brown  river 
flooding  down  toward  them. 

"Doubtful,"  he  was  beginning,  when  Polly 
cried  out  joyfully. 

Radnor's  heart  leaped  then  and  sank,  for  it 
was  Martin  Hale  riding  slowly  up  from  the  Warm 
Springs  direction. 

"I  couldn't  make  it  on  the  Ridge,"  he  called, 
before  he  was  up  to  them.  "It's  nothing  but  a 
string  of  washouts  all  the  way  up,  though  I 


296  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

reckon  the  top'd  be  safe  enough  if  you  could  get 
to  it.  No  news?  Sorry,  Radnor." 

Polly's  pleading  face  at  the  door  drew  him 
inside  the  house  "or  a  moment.  "I'll  be  out  to 
start  with  you,"  he  said  to  Jack  as  he  vanished. 

"I'll  slip  away  while  he's  inside,"  said  Radnor, 
wearily.  "He's  had  trouble  enough  for  one  man. 
Let  him  stay  with  your  daughter.  That's  where 
he  belongs.  This — this  is  my  job." 

Old  Mason  nodded. 

"You're  men,  both  of  you,"  he  said  tersely.  It 
was  the  highest  praise  he  knew. 

A  flock  of  twittering  birds  flew  quickly  up  into 
the  clearing  ether.  It  was  the  first  note  of  sum- 
mer that  had  been  heard  since  the  beginning  of 
what  the  people  of  that  region  were  to  call  the 
Great  Storm.  Also  with  equal  suddenness  the 
smell  of  growing  things  woke  in  the  clearing. 
The  August  day  had  fairly  begun. 

Suddenly  Jack  gave  a  sharp  cry,  and  pointed, 
almost  articulate.  For  up  into  the  clearing  beside 
the  Toll  Gate,  plain  enough  now  in  the  summer 
dawn,  trolled  wearily  a  jaded  black  horse  with  a 
side-saddle  rather  loose  upon  his  back. 


ANOTHER  DAWN  297 

"Hers?"  breathed  old  Mason. 

Radnor  nodded.  He  had  ascertained  from  the 
stable  man  which  horse  Miss  Forsythe  had  ridden. 

The  animal  made  his  way  to  the  front  of  the 
Toll  Gate  House,  and  as  Jack  sprang  to  his  head 
did  not  even  start. 

"The  beast's  done,"  said  the  younger  man  over 
his  shoulder. 

Mason  came  to  the  horse's  head. 

"Pumping  like  a  steam  engine!"  he  agreed  as 
he  watched  the  heaving  sides. 

"But — look  the  way  he's  come!"  said  Jack, 
staring  past  the  black  horse  into  the  mysterious 
valley  growing  ever  more  strange  and  more  full 
of  possibilities  with  the  waxing  light  of  dawn. 

"I  reckon,"  said  Richard  Mason,  succinctly, 
"that  you  better  get  after  your  job,  son,  I'll  look 
out  for  the  beast." 

Jack  seemed  to  start  the  mare  and  mount  her 
in  midair,  so  fast  was  his  departure.  The  old 
Toll-keeper  smiled,  sighed  and  shook  his  head, 
as  he  hooked  his  arm  into  the  black's  loose  snaffle, 
and  watched  the  other  go.  But  Radnor  was  not 
unduly  reckless.  The  road  was  practically  a  river 


298  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

except  on  the  edges.  It  required  navigating. 
Without  doubt  navigate  was  the  word !  He  knew 
that  any  horse  would  have  enough  sense  to  pick 
the  soundest  way,  and  peering  cautiously,  began 
to  follow  the  foot-deep  hoof  prints  of  the  black 
horse  down  the  mud  and  ooze.  Somewhere  at 
the  end  of  that  unknown  trail  Enid  was  waiting, 
but — how  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SHADOWS  FROM  THE  PAST 

Old  wishes,  ghosts  of  broken  plans, 
And  phantom  hopes  assemble.    .    .    . 

— ALFRED  TENNYSOK. 

A  BEAM  of  actual  summer  sunshine  was  lying 
on  the  threshold  of  the  Toll-gate  House 
when  Mrs.  Forsythe  and  Judge  Denby  crossed 
it  an  hour  later.  In  a  light  rig  they  had  made 
nearly  as  good  time  as  had  the  men  on  horse- 
back. 

The  Toll-keeper  and  his  daughter  met  them 
with  polite  bewilderment.  But  old  Mason's  look 
changed  almost  instantly.  Recognition  lighted  his 
whole  weather-beaten  face. 

"Edith!"  he  said.  And  then:  "I  felt  it;  I  knew 
she  must  be  your  daughter." 

299 


300  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

"It's  thirty  years,  Dick!"  she  said  quietly. 
Then  turned  to  the  Judge.  "You  remember  each 
other?" 

The  two  men's  eyes  were  hard  as  steel  in 
meeting.  It  was  Denby's  which  softened  to  some- 
thing very  like  an  appeal. 

"Won't  you  shake  hands,  Dick?" 

Mason  looked  at  the  outstretched  hand  and 
shook  his  head. 

"Why  should  I?"  he  said.  "You  sent  me  up 
here;  made  me  an  outcast  and  an  outlaw  and  then 
helped  to  keep  me  what  you'd  made  me.  Oh, 
I've  a  damned  lot  of  reasons  for  wanting  to  shake 
hands  with  you,  your  Honor,  haven't  I?" 

He  laughed  grimly.  The  two  women  looked 
at  him  utterly  perplexed.  Even  more  puzzling 
was  Judge  Denby's  attitude.  All  his  confident, 
assured  bearing  was  gone;  his  clean-cut  handsome 
mouth  was  trembling.  Richard  Mason  might 
have  been  the  Judge  and  he  the  outlaw  from  the 
look  of  them. 

"I  treated  you  shamefully,  Dick,  long  ago,"  he 
said,  low  and  hurriedly,  "but  I've  tried  to  be 
square  to  you  in  this — I  mean  of  late." 


SHADOWS  FROM  THE  PAST      301 

"You  mean,"  supplemented  Mason,  "in  this 
rotten  mountain-crook  business  of  yours." 

"You  were  in  it  as  well  as  I,"  defended  Denby. 
Mrs.  Forsythe  could  hardly  believe  her  ears, 
but  that  is  what  he  said, — "And  I  always  pro- 
tected you,  Dick,  as  soon  as  I  knew  who  you 
were." 

"I  was  in  it,"  said  the  Toll-keeper,  "because 
at  first  I  drifted  into  it,  feeling  that  as  long  as 
I  had  been  turned  out  by  society  I  might  as  well 
go  the  limit.  And  then  I  stayed  in  it  because  I 
found  out  who  the  ringleader  was,  and  I  was  set 
to  get  that  man  before  I  died  and  see  him  in  the 
jail  he  was  born  to  fill!" 

"Dad!"  cried  Polly,  softly,  "don't!  You'll 
hurt  yourself  getting  all  worked  up  like  that." 

"Dick,"  said  Denby,  and  he  looked  old  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  "I  came  to  bring — Edith," — 
he  called  her  so  for  the  first  time, — "and — to — " 
He  hesitated  while  he  tried  his  best  to  force  some 
sort  of  a  smile  onto  his  twisted  lips,  "I  believe 
Heaton  calls  it  'making  a  get-away'  what  I'm  go- 
ing to  do,"  he  said. 

They  stared  at  him.     And  for  just  a  moment 


302          MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

something  of  his  old  dignity  and  authority  came 
back  to  help  him  out. 

"I'm  through,"  he  said.  "Malone  Is  ready  to 
sell  me  out.  I  haven't  a  friend  left.  Heaton  has 
been  very  generous.  He  will  let  me  get  away, 
and  perhaps — perhaps  Ralph  will  never  find  out 
just  how  much  of  a  criminal  his  father  was.  If 
I  stayed  and  faced  my  just  deserts  everything 
would  have  to  come  out,  and  it  is  he  who  would 
suffer.  For  me — well,  it's  not  the  easiest  thing 
to  carry  fifty  odd  years — and  such  years — out 
into  the  world  for  a  fresh  start.  But  it's  all  I 
can  do  now  to  make  up  for  what  I  have  done  in 
the  past.  Edith — I  hope  with  all  my  heart  your 
daughter  will  return  to  you  in  safety.  But  my 
presence  here  will  only  make  you  more  miserable 
while  waiting  for  news.  I  will  go  outside  a  little." 

"Before  you  say  good-bye,"  said  Mrs.  For- 
sythe,  faintly.  She  was  in  fact  terribly  anxious 
to  be  free  from  his  presence.  And  it  was  not 
solely  repulsion  she  felt,  shocked  as  she  had  been 
to  learn  of  his  duplicity.  There  was  also  in  her 
heart  an  unreasoning  pity  and  regret  that  one 
who  had  stood  so  high  in  the  eyes  of  men  should 


SHADOWS  FROM  THE  PAST      303 

be  brought  so  low  even  in  his  own.  She  added 
impulsively:  "I'm  sorry — Arthur." 

The  Judge  compressed  his  lips  a  bit  more 
firmly.  "I  thank  you,  Edith,"  he  said,  with  his 
old,  beautiful  courtly  bow,  and  went  out  slowly 
into  the  morning  light. 

"Edith,  there  are  tears  in  your  eyes,"  said 
Richard  Mason. 

"Oh,  Richard,"  she  said,  "my  heart  aches  for — 
for  almost  everyone,  I  think,  to-day.  Do  you — 
oh,  do  you  believe  that  I  shall  have  my  little  girl 
back  safe  and  sound?" 

"I  believe  that  young  Radnor  would  swim  the 
Styx  to  get  her  back,"  said  the  Toll-keeper.  "Sit 
down,  dear  woman,  and  try  to  rest  a  little.  You 
must  be  worn  out." 

"Why— look!"  Polly's  voice  was  full  of 
amazement.  The  eyes  of  the  others  followed  her 
outstretched  hand. 

Down  the  muddy,  streaming  yellow  road  that 
led  to  the  farther  side  of  the  Ridge,  with  his  back 
turned  toward  the  Warm  Spring  Valley  and  all 
within  it,  walked  a  man.  He  did  not  stride  with 
the  free  tread  of  one  used  to  going  on  foot,  but 


304  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

slowly,  even  awkwardly,  like  a  man  moving  with 
bandaged  eyes.  So  did  Judge  Denby  walk  out 
of  their  lives  and  out  of  his  two  diverse  and  ex- 
tensive careers  to  regions  unknown.  No  one  of 
them — not  even  his  son — ever  saw  him  again. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SUNSHINE  AT  THE   FOUR  TRAIL  CROSSING 

Does  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way? 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day? 

From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight? 

They  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  the  door. 

— CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 

/  I  AHE  ego  that  was  Enid  Forsythe  struggled  up 
through    infinite    fathoms    of   unconscious- 
ness. 

First  came  bewilderment;  then  physical  discom- 
fort; stiffened  limbs  and  a  sense  of  chill.  Then 
darkness  again.  But  Enid  was  superbly  healthy. 
She  was  not  really  hurt  and  her  splendid  youth 
was  already  at  work  in  its  healing  processes. 

305 


306  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

Even  as  she  lay  motionless  on  the  ground,  she  was 
remembering  why  she  had  come,  and  all  that 
had  happened.  .  .  .  And  then  she  heard  a  horse 
coming  and  the  creak  of  leather. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  funny,"  she  thought,  languidly, 
"if,  after  I  had  come  to  find  him,  Martin  Hale 
should  find  me?" 

She  struggled  to  lift  herself  and  gave  a  little 
cry  to  attract  the  rider's  attention.  Then  she  sank 
back  into  half-swoon  once  more. 

As  she  drifted  off  a  low,  almost  a  harsh  ex- 
clamation sounded  in  her  ears :  "Enid !" 

She  had  not  the  smallest  doubt  that  it  was 
Martin  Hale  now.  He  had  found  her,  just  as 
she  had  imagined  he  might.  He  was  big  and 
strong.  He  would  take  care  of  her. 

She  felt  herself  caught  up  almost  roughly  in 
strong  arms,  and  thrilled,  even  through  the  en- 
ervation of  her  fatigue,  at  the  uncompromis- 
ingly masterful  way  in  which  she  was  being 
handled. 

"Thank  God  for  a  man,"  she  whispered  in 
her  heart,  but  there  was  a  sting  in  the  thought, 
too.  If  it  could  have  been  Jack.  "But  it  could 


never  have  been  Jack!"  she  told  herself  reck- 
lessly. 

"I  may  love  him  best  in  one  way,"  but  in  the 
Big  Primitive  Things  of  Life  women  want  some- 
thing Big  and  Primitive  to  hold  on  to!" 

She  had  an  odd  sense  of  trying  to  convince 
herself  of  something  against  her  own  will. 

"I  came  here — I  braved  everything  for  Martin 
Hale — and  he  has  found  me!  .  .  .  Better  yet — 
I  have  found  myself!" 

She  was  so  exhausted  that  her  very  mental 
processes  were  confused.  She  felt  herself  lifted 
to  the  man's  saddle — like  a  sack  of  meal;  felt 
the  spring  of  the  horse  beneath  her,  the  steady 
grip  of  the  hands  that  held  her,  the  warm  strength 
of  the  firm  body  against  which  she  rested.  In  the 
semi-stupor  of  her  state  she  seemed  to  see,  as  in 
an  hallucination,  the  shadowy  figure  of  Jack  Rad- 
nor fading  into  infinitudes  of  distance.  Her  eye- 
lids drooped  into  a  sort  of  frown,  but  the  vision 
persisted.  It  might  be  Martin  Hale,  Primitive 
Man  of  the  Hills  who  held  her,  who  had  res- 
cued her,  but,  as  her  senses  swam  into  oblivion 
it  was  Jack  Radnor  of  whom  she  thought  with  a 


308  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

dull  ache,  Jack  Radnor  whom,  after  all,  she 
loved ! 

She  was — she  admitted  it  to  herself  with  a  sort 
of  sick  sinking  of  her  heart — miserable  because 
it  was  Martin  Hale  who  had  rescued  her. 

It  was  bright  sunlight  when  Jack  Radnor  car- 
ried his  light  burden  into  the  Toll-gate  House. 
He  laid  Enid  on  the  couch  and  leaned  against  the 
table  suddenly  dizzy  with  the  reaction  of  his 
hours  of  anguish. 

Mrs.  Forsythe  and  Polly  flew  to  the  half-con- 
scious girl,  and  the  Toll-keeper  piled  wood  upon 
the  fire  and  put  on  the  kettle.  The  sunshine 
streamed  into  the  room.  The  long  night  was 
gone  like  a  bad  dream. 

But  though  color  had  come  back  to  Enid's  lips 
and  cheeks,  she  did  not  seem  to  wish  to  make 
any  effort  to  become  herself  again. 

She  lay  lethargically  on  the  couch,  too  weary 
in  heart  and  body  to  open  her  eyes  or  move.  She 
was  reluctant,  too,  for  with  each  pulse  of  return- 
ing strength  in  her  blood  she  resented  Martin 
Hale's  rescue  of  her,  and  longed  for  the  man 
she  really  loved.  Dully,  and  as  though  from  a 


SUNSHINE  AT  THE  CROSSING      309 

distance,  she  heard  voices,  Martin  Hale's  among 
them,  but  could  only  hear  a  word  now  and  then. 
"Must  be  pretty  well  done  up"  .  .  .  "riding  half 
the  night"  .  .  .  "Worst  storm  on  record." 

Loving  hands  held  hot  drinks  to  her  lips  and 
smoothed  her  hair. 

"Mamma!"  she  whispered  softly,  but  still  she 
did  not  open  her  eyes. 

"Thank  God!  Thank  God!"  whispered  her 
mother,  caressing  her  with  trembling  hands. — 
"And  Jack,"  she  added  with  a  broken  laugh,  "for 
bringing  you  back  to  me!" 

Enid's  great  golden  eyes  flashed  suddenly  wide 
open  and  a  fiery  flush  swept  from  her  chin  to 
her  shining  hair.  Jack!  Impossible!  Jack 
wasn't  the  sort  who  rode  all  night  in  storms  in 
search  of  stray  maidens  i  It —  But  standing 
close  beside  her  was,  undoubtedly,  Jack.  A  very 
different  Jack  from  the  man  to  whom  she  had  be- 
lieved herself  engaged — but  the  same.  He  was 
haggard  with  anxiety  and  sleeplessness  and  he 
needed  a  shave  badly.  But  the  whole  of  Enid's 
heart  and  soul  leaped  in  her  throat  as  she 
saw  him,  and  she  sobbed,  "Jack!"  in  such  a 


3io  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

tone  that  the  others  were  fain  to  turn  their 
eyes  away.  Radnor  went  up  to  her,  as  she 
lay  a  little  figure  of  burning  gold  in  the  blaze 
of  the  golden  sunshine  that  was  streaming  into  the 
room. 

"Are  you  strong  enough  to  come  outside  with 
me?"  he  asked  her  in  a  low  voice.  For  answer 
she  sprang  up,  life  running  swift  and  eager  in 
her  healthy  young  veins.  For  her  trail  too  was 
clear  before  her  at  last;  nothing  would  ever  be 
able  to  cross  it  again. 

But  if  Enid  expected  a  love  scene  she  was 
doomed  to  astonishment. 

For,  when  he  had  her  outside  the  Toll-gate 
House,  Jack  seized  her  by  the  shoulders  and  con- 
fronted her  with  a  look  she  had  never  seen  be- 
fore. It  was  a  look  though,  which  went  very  well 
with  the  headlong  rescue  of  her  at  dawn.  He 
was  extremely  pale — as  white  as  a  dark  man  can 
get — and  there  were  shadows  about  his  eyes.  His 
usually  correct  dress  was  in  startling  disarray  and 
his  hair  was  in  a  wet  tumble  above  the  most 
stormingly  scowling  brows  she  had  ever  seen. 
His  lips,  however,  trembled  and  so  did  the  strong 


SUNSHINE  AT  THE  CROSSING      3 1 1 

hands  that  held  her  with  a  grasp  that  hurt. 
There  was  something  of  genuine  anger  as  well 
a:  love  in  the  passion  that  shook  him. 

"How  dared  you,"  he  said,  in  a  queer  breath- 
less voice  that  she  would  never  have  dreamed 
could  come  from  his  lips.  "How  dared  you 
frighten  me  like  this!" 

"Frighten?"  She  was  too  surprised  to  more 
than  repeat  the  word  feebly. 

He  almost  groaned.  "I've  died  twenty  deaths 
in  the  last  three  hours,"  he  said,  fiercely.  "I've 
seen  you  in  fragments  at  the  bottom  of  cliffs,  and 
drowned,  and  stunned  by  lightning  and — "  He 
broke  off.  "You  little  fiend,"  he  muttered,  very 
low  but  vehemently.  "And  you've  nearly  killed 
your  mother  as  well!" 

"But — Jack,"  she  stammered  wild-eyed,  "it — 
it's  so  queer.  I  never  dreamed  you'd  feel  like 
that!" 

"Didn't  you?"  he  said  grimly. 

And  then  he  shook  her,  not  at  all  gently;  and 
then  clasping  her  close,  kissed  her  lips  over  and 
over  again — hard,  stormy  kisses  that  took  her 
breath  away.  His  arms  felt  to  her  like  white-hot 


312  MOUNTAIN  MADNESS 

steel  quivering  from  some  pulsing  flame  within 
them.  .  .  . 

"Oh,  Jack!"  gasped  Enid  when  she  could  speak, 
"why — why  didn't  you   do   that  before?" 


FINIS. 


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